-x 

V^R 


"Micky's  standin'  in  the  track  leanin'  against  Hamilton" 


BLISTER  JONES 


By 
JOHN  TAINTOR  FOOTE 


ILLUSTRATED  BY 

JAY  HAMBIDGE 


INDIANAPOLIS 

THE  BOBBS-MERRILL  COMPANY 
PUBLISHERS 


COPYRIGHT  1913 
THE  BOBBS-MERRJLL  COMPANY 


PRESS    OP 

BRAUNWORTH    ft    CO. 

BOOKBINDERS    AND    PRINTER! 

BROOKLYN,    N.   V. 


I  dedicate  this,  my  first  book,  with  awe  and 
the  deepest  affection,  to  Mulvaney — Mowgil 
— Kim,  and  all  the  wonderful  rest  of  them. 

J.  T.  F. 


2227857 


A  CERTAIN  magazine,  that  shall  be 
nameless,  I  read  every  month.  Not  be- 
cause its  pale  contents,  largely  furnished  by 
worthy  ladies,  contain  many  red  corpuscles,  but 
because  as  a  child  I  saw  its  numbers  lying  upon 
the  table  in  the  "library,"  as  much  a  part  of  that 
table  as  the  big  vase  lamp  that  glowed  above  it. 

My  father  and  mother  read  the  magazine  with 
much  enjoyment,  for,  doubtless,  when  its  editor 
was  young,  the  precious  prose  and  poetry  of 
Araminta  Perkins  and  her  ilk  satisfied  him  not 
at  all. 

Therefore,  in  memory  of  days  that  will  never 
come  again,  I  read  this  old  favorite;  sometimes 
— I  must  confess  it — with  pain. 

It  chanced  that  a  story  about  horses — aye, 
race  horses — was  approved  and  sanctified  by  the 
august  editor. 

This  story,  when  I  found  it  sandwiched  be- 
tween Jane  Somebody1  s  Impressions  Upon  Seeing 
an  Italian  Hedge,  and  three  verses  entitled  Re- 
surgam,  or  something  like  that,  I  straightway 
bore  to  "Blister"  Jones,  horse-trainer  by  pro- 
fession and  gentleman  by  instinct. 

"What  that  guy  don't  know  about  a  hoss 
would  fill  a  book,"  was  his  comment  after  I  had 
read  him  the  story. 

I  rather  agreed  with  this  opinion  and  so — 
here  is  the  book. 


THE  THOROUGHBRED 

Lead  him  away! — his  day  is  done; 

His  satin  coat  and  velvet  eye 
Are  dimmed  as  moonlight  in  the  sun 

Is  lost  upon  the  sky. 

Lead  him  away !  — his  rival  stands 

A  calf  of  shiny  gold; 
His  masters  kneel  with  lifted  hands 

To  this  base  thing  and  bold. 

Lead  him  away! — far  down  the  past, 
Where  sentiment  has  fled; 

But,  gentlemen,  just  at  the  last, 
Drink  deep! — the  thoroughbred! 


CONTENTS 

Pile 

I     Blister 1 

II  Two  Ringers    .....  29 

III  Wanted — a  Rainbow          ...  61 

IV  Salvation 98 

V  A  Tip  in  Time         ....  139 

VI  Tresjolie 179 

VII  Ole  Man  Sanford  .  .  .  .211 

VIII  Class 237 

IX  Exit  Butsy  ...  .270 

X  The  Big  Train  .  .  .  .306 


BLISTER  JONES 


BLISTER  JONES 


BLISTER 

T  TOW  my  old-young  friend  "Blister" 
**•  •*•  Jones  acquired  his  remarkable  nick- 
name, I  learned  one  cloudless  morning 
late  in  June. 

Our  chairs  were  tipped  against  number 
84  in  the  curving  line  of  box-stalls  at  La- 
tonia.  Down  the  sweep  of  whitewashed 
stalls  the  upper  doors  were  yawning  wide, 
and  from  many  of  these  openings,  velvet 
black  in  the  sunlight,  sleek  snaky  heads 
protruded. 

My  head  rested  in  the  center  of  the 
lower  door  of  84.  From  time  to  time  a 
warm  moist  breath,  accompanied  by  a 
gigantic  sigh,  would  play  against  the  back 
of  my  neck;  or  my  hat  would  be  pushed  a 

1 


2  BLISTER  JONES 

bit  farther  over  my  eyes  by  a  wrinkling 
muzzle  —  for  Tambourine,  gazing  out 
into  the  green  of  the  center-field,  felt  a 
vague  longing  and  wished  to  tell  me  about 
it. 

The  track,  a  broad  tawny  ribbon  with  a 
lace-work  edging  of  white  fence,  was  be- 
fore us;  the  "upper-turn"  with  its  striped 
five-eighths  pole,  not  fifty  feet  away. 
Some  men  came  and  set  up  the  starting 
device  at  this  red  and  white  pole,  and  I 
asked  Blister  to  explain  to  me  just  what 
it  meant. 

"Coin*  to  school  two-year-olds  at  the 
barrier,"  he  explained.  And  presently — 
mincing,  sidling,  making  futile  leaps  to 
get  away,  the  boys  on  their  backs  stand- 
ing clear  above  them  in  the  short  stir- 
rups— a  band  of  deer-like  young  thor- 
oughbreds assembled,  thirty  feet  or  so 
from  the  barrier. 

Then  there  was  trouble.  Those  sweet 
young  things  performed,  with  the  rapid- 
ity of  thought,  every  lawless  act  known 


BLISTER  3 

to  the  equine  brain.  They  reared.  They 
plunged.  They  bucked.  They  spun. 
They  surged  together.  They  scattered 
like  startled  quail.  I  heard  squeals,  and 
saw  vicious  shiny  hoofs  lash  out  in  every 
direction;  and  the  dust  spun  a  yellow 
haze  over  it  all. 

"Those  jockeys  will  be  killed!"  I 
gasped. 

"Jockeys !"  exclaimed  Blister  contemp- 
tuously. "Them  ain't  jockeys — they're 
exercise-boys.  Do  you  think  a  jock 
would  school  a  two-year-old?" 

A  man,  who  Blister  said  was  a  trainer, 
stood  on  the  fence  and  acted  as  starter. 
Language  came  from  this  person  in  vol- 
canic blasts,  and  the  seething  mass, 
where  infant  education  was  brewing, 
boiled  and  boiled  again. 

"That  bay  filly's  a  nice-lookin'  trick 
Four  Eyes!"  said  Blister,  pointing  out  a 
two-year-old  standing  somewhat  apart 
from  the  rest.  "She's  by  Hamilton  'n* 
her  dam's  Alberta,  by  Seminole." 


4  BLISTER  JONES 

The  bay  filly,  I  soon  observed,  had 
more  than  beauty — she  was  so  obviously 
the  outcome  of  a  splendid  and  selected 
ancestry.  Even  her  manners  were  aristo- 
cratic. She  faced  the  barrier  with  quiet 
dignity  and  took  no  part  in  the  whirling 
riot  except  to  move  disdainfully  aside 
when  it  threatened  to  engulf  her.  I 
turned  to  Blister  and  found  him  gazing  at 
the  filly  with  a  far-away  look  in  his  eyes. 

"Ole  Alberta  was  a  grand  mare,"  he 
said  presently.  "I  see  her  get  away  last 
in  the  Crescent  City  Derby  'n'  be  ten 
len'ths  back  at  the  quarter.  But  she 
come  from  nowhere,  collared  ole  Stone- 
brook  in  the  stretch,  looked  him  in  the 
eye  the  last  eighth  V  outgamed  him  at 
the  wire.  She  has  a  hundred  V  thirty 
pounds  up  at  that. 

"Ole  Alberta  dies  when  she  has  this 
filly,"  he  went  on  after  a  pause.  "Judge 
Dillon,  over  near  Lexington,  owned  her, 
V  Mrs.  Dillon  brings  the  filly  up  on  the 


BLISTER  5 

bottle.  See  how  nice  that  filly  stands? 
Handled  every  day  since  she  was  foaled, 
'n'  never  had  a  cross  word.  Sugar  every 
mawnin'  from  Mrs.  Dillon.  That's  way 
to  learn  a  colt  somethin'." 

At  last  the  colts  were  formed  into  a 
disorderly  line. 

"Now,  boys,  you've  got  a  chance — 
come  on  with  'em!"  bellowed  the  starter. 
"Not  too  fast  .  .  ."he  cautioned. 
"Awl-r-r-right  .  .  .let  'em  go-o-!" 

They  were  off  like  rockets  as  the  bar- 
rier shot  up,  and  the  bay  filly  flashed  in- 
to the  lead.  Her  slender  legs  seemed 
to  bear  her  as  though  on  the  breast  of 
the  wind.  She  did  not  run — she  floated 
— -yet  the  gap  between  herself  and  her 
struggling  schoolmates  grew  ever  wider. 

"Oh,  you  Alberta!"  breathed  Blister. 
Then  his  tone  changed.  "Most  of  these 
wise  Ikes  talk  about  the  sire  of  a  colt,  but 
I'll  take  a  good  dam  all  the  time  for 
mine!" 


6  BLISTER  JONES 

Standing  on  my  chair,  I  watched  the 
colts  finish  their  run,  the  filly  well  in 
front. 

"She's  a  wonder!"  I  exclaimed,  re- 
suming my  seat. 

"She  acts  like  she'll  deliver  the  goods," 
Blister  conceded.  "She's  got  a  lot  of 
step,  but  it  takes  more'n  that  to  make 
a  race  hoss.  We'll  know  about  her 
when  she  goes  the  route,  carryin'  weight 
against  class." 

The  colts  were  now  being  led  to  their 
quarters  by  stable-boys.  When  the  boy 
leading  the  winner  passed,  he  threw  us 
a  triumphant  smile. 

"I  guess  she's  bad !"  he  opined. 

"Some  baby,"  Blister  admitted.  Then 
with  disgust:  "They've  hung  a  fierce 
name  on  her  though." 

"Ain't  it  the  truth!"  agreed  the  boy. 

"What  is  her  name?"  I  asked,  when 
the  pair  had  gone  by. 

"They  call  her  Trez  Jolly,"  said  Blister. 


BLISTER  7 

"Now,  ain't  that  a  hell  of  a  name?  I 
like  a  name  you  can  kind-a  warble." 
He  had  pronounced  the  French  phrase 
exactly  as  it  is  written,  with  an  effort  at 
the  "J"  following  the  sibilant. 

"Tres  Jolie — it's  French,"  I  explained, 
and  gave  him  the  meaning  and  proper 
pronunciation. 

"Traysyolee !"  he  repeated  after  me. 
"Say,  I'm  a  rube  right.  Tra-aysyole-e 
in  the  stretch  byano-o-se!"  he  intoned 
with  gusto.  "You  can  warble  that!"  he 
exclaimed. 

"I  don't  think  much  of  Blister — for 
beauty,"  I  said.  "Of  course,  that  isn't 
your  real  name." 

"No;  I  had  another  once,"  he  replied 
evasively.  "But  I  never  hears  it  much. 
The  old  woman  calls  me  'thatdambrat,' 
'n'  the  old  man  the  same,  only  more  so. 
I  gets  Blister  handed  to  me  by  the  bunch 
one  winter  at  the  New  Awlin'  meetin'." 

"How?"  I  inquired. 


8  BLISTER  JONES 

"Wait  till  I  get  the  makin's  V  I'll 
tell  you,"  he  said,  as  he  got  up  and  en- 
tered a  stall. 

"One  winter  I'm  swipin'  fur  Jameson," 
he  began,  when  he  returned  with  tobacco 
and  papers.  "We  ships  to  New  Awlins 
early  that  fall.  We  have  twelve  dogs 
— hah*  of  'em  hop-heads  'n'  the  other 
half  dinks. 

"In  them  days  I  ain't  much  bigger  'n 
a  peanut,  but  I  sure  thinks  I'm  a  clever 
guy.  I  figger  they  ain't  a  gazabo  on  the 
track  can  hand  it  to  me. 

"One  mawnin'  there's  a  bunch  of  us 
ginnies  settin'  on  the  fence  at  the  wire, 
watchin'  the  work-outs.  Some  trainers 
'n'  owners  is  standin'  on  the  track  rag- 
chewin'. 

"A  bird  owned  by  Cal  Davis  is  finishin' 
a  mile-'n'-a-quarter,  under  wraps,  in 
scan'lous  fast  time.  Cal  is  standin'  at 
the  finish  with  his  clock  in  his  hand 
lookin'  real  contented.  All  of  a  sudden 


BLISTER  9 

the  bird  makes  a  stagger,  goes  to  his 
knees  'n'  chucks  the  boy  over  his  head. 
His  swipe  runs  out  'n'  grabs  the  bird  V 
leads  him  in  a-limpin'. 

"Say!  That  bird's  right-front  tendon 
is  bowed  like  a  barrel  stave! 

"This  Cal  Davis  is  a  big  owner.  He's 
got  all  kinds  of  kale — 'n'  he  don't  fool 
with  dinks.  He  gives  one  look  at  the 
bowed  tendon. 

:  'Anybody  that'll  lead  this  hoss  off 
the  track,  gets  him  'n'  a  month's  feed,' 
he  says. 

"Before  you  could  spit  I  has  that  bird 
by  the  head.  His  swipe  ain't  goin'  to 
let  go  of  him,  but  Cal  says:  'Turn  him 
loose,  boy!'  'N'  I'm  on  my  way  with  the 
bird. 

"That's  the  first  one  I  ever  owns. 
Jameson  loans  me  a  stall  fur  him.  That 
night  a  ginnie  comes  over  from  Cal's 
barn  with  two  bags  of  oats  in  a  wheel- 
barrow. 


10  BLISTER  JONES 

"A  newspaper  guy  finds  out  about  the 
deal,  'n'  writes  it  up  so  everybody  is 
hep  to  me  playin'  owner.  One  day  I  see 
the  starter  point  me  out  to  Colonel 
King,  who's  the  main  squeeze  in  the 
judge's  stand,  'n'  they  both  laugh. 

"I've  got  all  winter  before  we  has  to 
ship,  'n'  believe  me  I  sweat  some  over 
this  bird.  I  done  everythin'  to  that 
tendon,  except  make  a  new  one.  In  a 
month  I  has  it  in  such  shape  he  don't 
limp,  'n'  I  begins  to  stick  mile  gallops 
'n'  short  breezers  into  him.  He  has  to 
wear  a  stiff  bandage  on  the  dinky  leg, 
'n'  I  puts  one  on  the  left-fore,  too — it 
looks  better. 

"It  ain't  so  long  till  I  has  this  bird 
cherry  ripe.  He'll  take  a-holt  awful 
strong  right  at  the  end  of  a  stiff  mile. 
One  day  I  turns  him  loose,  fur  three- 
eighths,  'n'  he  runs  it  so  fast  he  makes 
me  dizzy. 

"I  know  he's  good,  but  I   wants   to 


BLISTER  11 

know  how  good,  before  I  pays  entrance 
on  him.  I  don't  want  the  dockers  to 
get  wise  to  him,  neither! 

"Joe  Nickel's  the  star  jock  that  year. 
I've  seen  many  a  good  boy  on  a  hoss, 
but  I  think  Joe's  the  best  judge  of  pace 
I  ever  see.  One  day  he's  comin'  from  the 
weighin'-room,  still  in  his  silks.  His 
valet's  with  him  carryin'  the  saddle.  I 
steps  up  'n'  says: 

:  'Kin  I  see  you  private  a  minute,  Joe?' 

"  'Sure  thing,  kid,'  he  says.  'N'  the 
valet  skidoos. 

'  'Joe,'  I  says,  Tve  got  a  bird  that's 
right.  I  don't  know  just  how  good  he 
is,  but  he's  awful  good.  I  want  to  get 
wise  to  him  before  I  crowds  my  dough 
on  to  the  'Sociation.  Will  you  give  him 
a  work?' 

"It  takes  an  awful  nerve  to  ask  a  jock 
like  Nickel  to  work  a  hoss  out,  but  he's 
the  only  one  can  judge  pace  good  enough 
to  put  me  wise,  'n'  I'm  desperate. 


12  BLISTER  JONES 

*  'It's  that  Davis  cripple,  ain't  it?' 
he  asks. 

"  'That's  him,'  I  says. 

"He  studies  a  minute,  lookin'  steady 
at  me. 

'I'm  your  huckleberry,'  he  says  at 
last.     'When  do  you  want  me?' 

''  'Just  as  she  gets  light  to-morrow 
mawnin','  I  says  quick,  fur  I  hasn't 
believed  he'd  come  through,  V  I  wants 
to  stick  the  gaff  into  him  'fore  he  changes 
his  mind. 

"He  give  a  sigh.  I  knowed  he  was  no 
early  riser. 

"  'All  right,'  he  says.  'Where'll  you 
be?' 

"  'At  the  half-mile  post,'  I  says.  'I'll 
have  him  warmed  up  fur  you.' 

:  'All  right,'  he  says  again — 'n'  that 
night  I  don't  sleep  none. 

"When  it  begins  to  get  a  little  gray 
next  mawnin'  I  takes  the  bird  out  'n' 
gallops  him  a  slow  mile  with  a  stiff 
breezer  at  the  end.  But  durin'  the  night 


BLISTER  13 

I  gives  up  thinkin'  Joe'll  be  there,  V  I 
nearly  falls  off  when  I  comes  past  the 
half-mile  post,  'n'  he's  standin'  by  the 
fence  in  a  classy  overcoat  'n'  kid  gloves. 

"He  takes  off  his  overcoat,  'n'  comes 
up  when  I  gets  down, 'n'  gives  a  look  at 
the  saddle. 

"  'I  can't  ride  nothin'  on  that  thing,' 
he  says.  'Slip  over  to  the  jocks'  room 
'n'  get  mine.  It's  on  number  three  peg — 
here's  the  key.' 

"It's  gettin'  light  fast  'n'  I'm  afraid 
of  the  dockers. 

'The   sharp-shooters'll   be   out  in   a 
minute,'  I  says. 

"  'I  can't  help  it,'  says  Joe.  'I  wouldn't 
ride  a  bull  on  that  saddle!' 

"I  see  there's  no  use  to  argue,  so  I 
beats  it  across  the  center-field,  cops  the 
saddle  'n'  comes  back.  I  run  all  the 
way,  but  it's  gettin'  awful  light. 

:  'Send  him  a  mile  in  forty-five  'n' 
see  what  he's  got  left,'  I  says,  as  I 
throws  Joe  up. 


14  BLISTER  JONES 

"  'Right  in  the  notch — if  he's  got  the 
step,'  he  says. 

"I  click  Jameson's  clock  on  them,  as 
they  went  away — Joe  whisperin'  in  the 
bird's  ear.  The  back-stretch  was  the 
stretch,  startin'  from  the  half.  I  seen 
the  bird's  mouth  wide  open  as  they  come 
home,  'n'  Joe  has  double  wraps  on  him. 
'He  won't  beat  fifty  under  that  pull!'  I 
says  to  myself.  But  when  I  stops  the 
clock  at  the  finish  it  was  at  forty -four- 
'n'-three-quarters.  Joe  ain't  got  a  clock 
to  go  by  neither — that's  judgin'  pace! — 
take  it  from  me! 

:  'He's  diseased  with  speed,'  says 
Joe,  when  he  gets  down.  'He  can  do 
thirty-eight  sure — just  look  at  my 
hands !' 

"I  does  a  dance  a-bowin'  to  the  bird, 
'n'  Joe  stands  there  laughin'  at  me, 
squeezin'  the  blood  back  into  his  mitts. 

"We  leads  the  hoss  to  the  gate,  'n' 
there's  a  booky's  clocker  named  Izzy 
Goldberg. 


BLISTER  15 

'You  an  exercise-boy  now?'  he  asks 
Joe. 

"  'Not  yet,'  says  Joe.  'Mu  cousin 
here  owns  this  trick,  'n'  I'm  givin'  him 
a  work.' 

'Up  kind-a  early,  ain't  you?  Say! 
He's  good,  ain't  he,  Joe?'  says  Izzy;  'n' 
looks  at  the  bird  close. 

"  'Naw,  he's  a  mutt,'  says  Joe. 
'  'What's   he   doin'   with   his   mouth 
open  at  the  end  of  that  mile?'  Izzy  says, 
'n'  laughs. 

:  'He  only  runs  it  in  fifty,'  says  Joe, 
careless.  'I  takes  hold  of  him  'cause  he's 
bad  in  front,  'n'  he's  likely  to  do  a  flop 
when  he  gets  tired.  So  long,  Bud!'  Joe 
says  to  me,  'n'  I  takes  the  bird  to  the 
barn. 

"I'm  not  thinkin'  Izzy  ain't  wise.  It's 
a  cinch  Joe  don't  stall  him.  Every 
booky  would  hear  about  that  work-out 
by  noon.  Sure  enough  the  Item's 
pink  sheet  has  this  among  the  tips  the 
next  day: 


16  BLISTER  JONES 

"  'Count  Noble'— that  was  the  bird's 
name — 'a  mile  in  forty-four.  Pulled  to  a 
walk  at  the  end.  Bet  the  works  on  him; 
his  first  time  out,  boys!' 

"That  was  on  a  Saturday.  On  Monday 
I  enters  the  bird  among  a  bunch  of  dogs 
to  start  in  a  five  furlong  sprint  Thursday. 
I'm  savin'  every  soomarkee  I  gets  my 
hands  on  'n'  I  pays  the  entrance  to  the 
secretary  like  it's  a  mere  bag  of  shells. 
Joe  Nickel  can't  ride  fur  me — he's  under 
contract.  I  meets  him  the  day  before 
my  race. 

'You're  levelin'  with  your  hoss,  ain't 
you?'  he  says.  Til  send  my  valet  in 
with  you,  'n'  after  you  get  yours  on,  he'll 
bet  two  hundred  fur  me.' 

"'Nothin'  doin',  Joe!'  I  says.  'Stay 
away  from  it.  I'll  tell  you  when  I  gets 
ready  to  level.  You  can't  bet  them 
bookies  nothin' — they're  wise  to  him.' 

"  'Look-a-here,  Bud!'  says  Joe.  'That 
bird'll  cake-walk  among  them  crabs.  No 


BLISTER  17 

jock   can   make   him   lose,  'n'   not   get 
ruled  off.' 

6  'Leave  that  to  me,'  I  says. 

"Just  as  I  figgers — my  hoss  opens  up 
eight-to-five  in  the  books. 

"I  gives  him  all  the  water  he'll  drink 
afore  he  goes  to  the  post,  'n'  I  has  band- 
ages on  every  leg.  The  paddock  judge 
looks  at  them  bandages,  but  he  knows  the 
bird's  a  cripple,  'n'  he  don't  feel  'em. 

'Them's  to  hold  his  legs  on,  ain't 
they?'  he  says,  'n'  grins. 

"  'Surest  thing  you  know,'  I  says. 
But  I  feels  some  easier  when  he's  on  his 
way — there's  seven  pounds  of  lead  in 
each  of  tJiem  bandages. 

"I  don't  want  the  bird  whipped  when 
he  ain't  got  a  chance. 

"  'This  hoss  backs  up  if  you  use  the 
bat  on  him,'  I  says  to  the  jock,  as  he's 
tyin'  his  reins. 

"  'He  backs  up  anyway,  I  guess,'  he 
says,  as  the  parade  starts. 


18  BLISTER  JONES 

'The  bird  gets  away  good,  but  I'd 
overdone  the  lead  in  his  socks.  He  fin- 
ished a  nasty  last — thirty  len'ths  back. 

'  'Roll  over,  kid!'  says  the  jock,  when 
I  go  up  to  slip  him  his  fee.  'Not  fur 
ridin'  that  hippo.  It  Jud  be  buglary — 
he  couldn't  beat  a  piano!' 

"I  meets  Colonel  King  comin*  out  of 
the  judge's  stand  that  evenin'. 

'  'An  owner's  life  has  its  trials  and 
tribulations — eh,  my  boy?'  he  says. 

"  'Yes,  sir!'  I  says.  That's  the  first 
time  Colonel  King  ever  speaks  to  me,  'n' 
I  swells  up  like  a  toad.  'I'm  gettin*  to 
be  all  the  gravy  'round  here,'  I  says  to 
myself. 

"Two  days  after  this  they  puts  an 
overnight  mile  run  fur  maidens  on  the 
card,  'n'  I  slips  the  bird  into  it.  I  knowed 
it  was  takin'  a  chance  so  soon  after  his 
bad  race,  but  it  looks  so  soft  I  can't 
stay  'way  from  it.  I  goes  to  Cal  Davis, 
'n'  tells  him  to  put  a  bet  down. 


BLISTER  19 

"  'Oh,  ho!'  he  says.  'Lendin'  me  a 
helpin'  hand,  are  you?'  Then  I  tells 
him  about  Nickel. 

"  'Did  Joe  Nickel  work  him  out  for 
you?'  he  says.  'The  best  is  good  enough 
fur  you,  ain't  it?  I'll  see  Joe,  'n'  if  it 
looks  good  to  him  I'll  take  a  shot  at  it. 
Much  obliged  to  you.' 

"  'Don't  never  mention  it,'  I  says. 

"  'How  do  you  mean  that?'  he  says, 
grinnin'. 

c  'Both  ways,'  says  I. 

"The  mawnin'  of  the  race,  I'm  givin' 
the  bird's  bad  leg  a  steamin',  when  a 
black  swipe  named  Duckfoot  Johnson 
tells  me  I'm  wanted  on  the  phone  over 
to  the  secretary's  office,  'n'  I  gets  Duck- 
foot  to  go  on  steamin'  the  leg  while  I'm 
gone. 

"It's  a  feed  man  on  the  phone, 
wantin'  to  know  when  he  gets  sixteen 
bucks  I  owe  him. 

"  'The  bird'll  bring  home  your  coin  at 


20  BLISTER  JONES 

four  o'clock  this  afternoon,'  I  tells  him. 

"'Well,  that's  lucky,'  he  says.  1 
thought  it  was  throwed  to  the  birds,  'n' 
I  didn't  figure  they'd  bring  it  home 
again.' 

"When  I  gets  back  there's  a  crap 
game  goin'  on  in  front  of  the  stall,  'n' 
Duckfoot's  shootin'.  There's  a  hot  towel 
on  the  bird's  leg,  'n'  it's  been  there  too 
long.  I  takes  it  off  'n'  feel  where  small 
blisters  has  begun  to  raise  under  the 
hair — a  little  more  'n'  it  'ud  been  clear 
to  the  bone.  I  cusses  Duckfoot  good, 
'n'  rubs  vaseline  into  the  leg." 

I  interrupted  Blister  long  enough  to 
inquire : 

"Don't  they  blister  horses  sometimes 
to  cure  them  of  lameness?" 

"Sure,"  he  replied.  "But  a  hoss  don't 
work  none  fur  quite  a  spell  afterwards. 
A  blister,  to  do  any  good,  fixes  him  so 
he  can't  hardly  raise  his  leg  fur  two 
weeks. 


BLISTER  21 

"Well,"  he  went  on,  "the  race  fur 
maidens  was  the  last  thing  on  the  card. 
I'm  in  the  betting-ring  when  they  chalks 
up  the  first  odds,  'n'  my  hoss  opens  at 
twenty-five-to-one.  The  two  entrance 
moneys  have  about  cleaned  me.  I'm 
only  twenty  green  men  strong.  I  peels 
off  ten  of  'em  'n'  shoved  up  to  a  booky. 
c  'On  the  nose  fur  that  one,'  I  says, 
pointin'  to  the  bird's  name. 

"  'Quit  your  kiddin','  he  says.  'What 
Jud  you  do  with  all  that  money?  This  fur 
yours.'  'N'  he  rubs  to  twelve-to-one. 

'  'Ain't  you  the  liberal  gink?'  I  says, 
as  he  hands  me  the  ticket. 

"  'I  starts  fur  the  next  book,  but  say! 
— the  odds  is  just  meltin'  away.  Joe's 
'n'  Cal's  dough  is  comin'  down  the  line, 
'n'  the  gazabos,  thinkin'  it's  wise  money, 
trails.  By  post-time  the  bird's  a  one- 
to-three  shot. 

"I've  give  the  mount  to  Sweeney,  'n' 
like  a  nut  I  puts  him  hep  to  the  bird, 


22  BLISTER  JONES 

'n'  he  tells  his  valet  to  bet  a  hundred 
fur  him.  The  bird  has  on  socks  again, 
but  this  time  they're  empty,  'n'  the  race 
was  a  joke.  He  breaks  fifth  at  the  get- 
away, but  he  just  mows  them  dogs  down. 
Sweeney  keeps  thinkin'  about  that  hun- 
dred, I  guess,  'cause  he  rode  the  bird  all 
the  way,  'n'  finished  a  million  len'ths  in 
front. 

"I  cashes  my  ticket,  'n'  starts  fur  the 
barn  to  sleep  with  that  bird,  when  here 
comes  Joe  Nickel. 

'  'He  run  a  nice  race,'  he  says,  grinnin', 
'n'  hands  me  six  hundred  bucks. 

"'What's  this  fur?'  I  says.  'You 
better  be  careful  ...  I  got  a  weak 
heart.' 

1  'I  win  twelve  hundred  to  the  race,' 
he  says.  '  'N'  we  splits  it  two  ways.' 

"  'Nothin'  doin','  I  says,  'n'  tries  to 
hand  him  back  the  wad. 

'  'Go  awn!'  he  says,  'I'll  give  you  a 
soak  in  the  ear.  I  bet  that  money  fur 
you,  kiddo.' 


BLISTER  23 

"I  looks  at  the  roll  'n'  gets  wobbly  in 
the  knees.  I  never  see  so  much  kale 
before — not  at  one  time.  Just  then  we 
hears  the  announcer  sing  out  through  a 
megaphone: 

"  The  o-o-owner  of  Count  Nobul-1-1-1 
is  wanted  in  the  judge's  stand!' 

"'Oy,  oy!'  says  Joe.  'You'll  need 
that  kale — you're  goin'  to  lose  your 
happy  home.  It's  Katy  bar  the  door 
fur  yours,  Bud!' 

"  'Don't  worry — watch  me  tell  it  to 
'em,'  I  says  to  Joe,  as  I  stuffs  the  roll 
V  starts  fur  the  stand.  I  was  feelin' 
purty  good. 

"  'Wait  a  minute,'  says  Joe,  runnin' 
after  me.  'You  can't  tell  them  people 
no  thin'.  You  ain't  wise  to  that  bunch 
yet,  Bud — why,  they'll  kid  you  silly 
before  they  hand  it  to  you,  V  then 
change  the  subject  to  somethin'  interest- 
in',  like  where  to  get  pompono  cooked  to 
suit  'em.  I've  been  up  against  it,'  he 
says,  *  V  I'm  tellin'  you  right.  Just 


24  BLISTER  JONES 

keep  stallin'  around  when  you  get  in  the 
stand,  V  act  like  you  don't  know  the 
war's  over.' 

"  Turget  it,'  I  says.  Til  show  those 
big  stiffs  where  to  head  in.  I'll  hypnotize 
the  old  owls.  I'll  give  'em  a  song  'n' 
dance  that's  right!' 

"As  I  goes  up  the  steps  I  see  the  judges 
settin*  in  their  chairs,  'n'  I  takes  off  my 
hat.  Colonel  King  ain't  settin',  he's 
standin'  up  with  his  hands  in  his  pockets. 
Somehow,  when  I  sees  him  I  begins  to 
wilt — he  looks  so  clean.  He's  got  a 
white  mustache,  'n'  his  face  is  kind-a 
brown  'n'  pink.  He  looks  at  me  a  min- 
ute out  of  them  blue  eyes  of  his. 

'  'Are  you  the  owner  of  Count  Noble, 
Mr.  — er— ?' 

'  'Jones,  sir,'  I  says. 

'  *  Jones?'    says   the   colonel. 
'Yes,  sir,'   I  says. 

'  'Mr.  Jones,'  says  the  colonel,  'how 
do  you  account  for  the  fact  that  on 


BLISTER  25 

Thursday  Count  Noble  performs  dis- 
gracefully, and  on  Saturday  runs  like  a 
stake  horse?  Have  the  days  of  the  week 
anything  to  do  with  it?' 

"I  never  says  nothin'.     I  just  stands 
there  lookin'  at  him,  foolin'  with  my  hat. 

"'This  is  hell,"  I  thinks. 

'The  judges  are  interested  in  this 
phenomenon,  Mr.  Jones,  and  we  have 
sent  for  you,  thinking  perhaps  you  can 
throw  a  little  light  on  the  matter/  says 
the  colonel,  'n'  waits  fur  me  again. 

'  'Come  on  ...  get  busy!'  I 
says  to  myself.  'You  can  kid  along  with 
a  bunch  of  bums,  'n'  it  sounds  good — 
don't  get  cold  feet  the  first  time  some 
class  opens  his  bazoo  at  you!'  But  I 
can't  make  a  noise  like  a  word,  on  a  bet. 
'The  judges,  upon  looking  over  the 
betting  sheets  of  the  two  races  in  which 
your  horse  appeared,  find  them  quite 
interesting,'  says  the  colonel.  'The  odds 
were  short  in  the  race  he  did  not  win; 


26  BLISTER  JONES 

they  remained  unchanged — in  fact,  rose — 
since  only  a  small  amount  was  wagered 
on  his  chances.  On  the  other  hand, 
these  facts  are  reversed  in  to-day's  race, 
which  he  won.  It  seems  possible  that 
you  and  your  friends  who  were  pessi- 
mists on  Thursday  became  optimists  to- 
day, and  benefited  by  the  change.  Have 
you  done  so?' 

"I  see  I  has  to  get  some  sort-a  language 
out  of  me. 

'  'He  was  a  better  hoss  to-day — that's 
all  I  knows  about  it,'  I  says. 

'The  first  part  of  your  statement 
seems  well  within  the  facts,'  says  the 
colonel.  'He  was,  apparently,  a  much 
better  horse  to-day.  But  these  gentle- 
men and  myself,  having  the  welfare  of 
the  American  thoroughbred  at  heart, 
would  be  glad  to  learn  by  what  method  he 
was  so  greatly  improved.' 

"I  don't  know  why  I  ever  does  it,  but 
it  comes  to  me  how  Duckfoot  leaves  the 


BLISTER  27 

towel  on  the  bird's  leg,  'n'  I  don't  stop 
to  think. 

1  'I  blistered  him,'  I  says. 

'You — what?9  says  the  colonel.  I'd 
have  give  up  the  roll  quick,  sooner' n 
spit  it  out  again,  but  I'm  up  against  it. 

"  'I  blisters  him',  I  says. 

"The  colonel's  face  gets  red.  His 
eyes  bung  out  'n'  he  turns  'round  'n' 
starts  to  cough  'n'  make  noises.  The 
rest  of  them  judges  does  the  same.  They 
holds  on  to  each  other  'n'  does  it.  I 
know  they're  givin'  me  the  laugh  fur 
that  fierce  break  I  makes. 

"  'You're  outclassed,  kid !'  I  says  to 
myself.  'They'll  tie  a  can  to  you,  sure. 
The  gate  fur  yours!' 

"Just  then  Colonel  King  turns  round, 
'n'  I  see  I  can't  look  at  him  no  more.  I 
looks  at  my  hat,  waitin'  fur  him  to  say 
I'm  ruled  off.  I've  got  a  lump  in  my 
throat,  'n'  I  think  it's  a  bunch  of  bright 
conversation  stuck  there.  But  just  then 


28  BLISTER  JONES 

a  chunk  of  water  rolls  out  of  my  eye,  'n' 
hits  my  hat — pow!  It  looks  bigger'n 
Lake  Erie,  'n'  'fore  I  kin  jerk  the  hat 
away — pow! — comes  another  one.  I 
knows  the  colonel  sees  'em,  'n'  I  hopes  I 
croak. 

"  'Ahem — ',  he  says. 

e  'Now  I  get  mine!'  I  says  to  myself. 

'  'Mr.    Jones/   says   the    colonel,    'n' 

his  voice  is  kind-a  cheerful.    'The  judges 

will  accept  your  explanation.    You  may 

go  if  you  wish.' 

Just  as  I'm  goin'  down  the  steps  the 
colonel  stops  me. 

'  *I  have  a  piece  of  advice  for  you, 
Mr.  Jones,'  he  says.  His  voice  ain't 
cheerful  neither.  It  goes  right  into  my 
gizzard.  I  turns  and  looks  at  him. 
'Keep  that  horse  blistered  from  now  onf 
says  the  colonel. 

"Some  ginnies  is  in  the  weighin'-room 
under  the  stand,  'n'  hears  it  all.  That's 
how  I  gets  my  name." 


TWO  RINGERS 

«TTELLO,  ole  Four  Eyes!"  was  the 

•*•  •*•  semi-affectionate  greeting  of  Blis- 
ter Jones.  "I  ain't  seed  you  lately." 

I  had  found  him  in  the  blacksmith 
shop  at  Latonia,  lazily  observing  the 
smith's  efforts  to  unite  Fan  Tan  and 
a  set  of  new-made,  blue-black  racing- 
plates.  I  explained  how  a  city  editor 
had  bowed  my  shoulders  with  the  labors 
of  Hercules  during  the  last  week,  and 
began  to  acquire  knowledge  of  the  uncer- 
tainties connected  with  shoeing  a  young 
thoroughbred. 

A  colored  stable-boy  stood  at  Fan 
Tan's  wicked-looking  head  and  ad- 
dressed in  varied  tone  and  temper  a 
pair  of  flattened  ears. 

"Whoa!  Baby-doll!    Dat's  ma  honey- 
dat's  ma  petty  chile —     .     .      .     Whoa! 
29 


30  BLISTER  JONES 

Yuh  no-'coun'  houn',  yuh!"  The  first  of 
the  speech  had  been  delivered  soothingly, 
as  the  smith  succeeded  in  getting  a 
reluctant  hind  leg  into  his  lap;  the  last 
was  snorted  out  as  the  leg  straightened 
suddenly  and  catapulted  him  into  a  cor- 
ner of  the  shop,  where  he  sat  down  heavily 
among  some  discarded  horseshoes. 

The  smith  arose,  sweat  and  curses 
dripping  from  him. 

"Chris!"  said  Blister,  "it's  a  shame  the 
way  you  treat  that  pore  filly.  She 
comes  into  yer  dirty  joint  like  a  little 
lady,  fur  to  get  a  new  pair  of  shoes,  'n' 
you  grabs  her  by  the  leg  'n'  then  cusses 
her  when  she  won't  stand  fur  it." 

Part  of  the  curses  were  now  directed 
at  Blister. 

"Come  on,  Four  Eyes,"  he  said.  "This 
ain't  no  place  fur  a  minister's  son." 

"I'd  like  to  stay  and  see  the  shoeing!" 
I  protested,  as  he  rose  to  go. 

"What   shoeing?"    he   asked    incredu- 


TWO  RINGERS  31 

lously.  "You  ain't  meanin'  a  big  strong 
guy  like  Chris  manhandlin'  a  pore  little 
filly?  Come  awn —  I  can't  stand  to  see 
him  abusin'  her  no  more." 

We  wandered  down  to  the  big  brown 
oval,  and  Blister,  perching  himself  on 
the  top  rail  of  the  fence,  took  out  his 
stop-watch,  although  there  were  no 
horses  on  the  track. 

"What  are  you  going  to  do  with 
that?"  I  asked. 

"Got  to  do  it,"  he  grinned.  "If  I 
was  to  set  on  a  track  fence  without  ma 
clock  in  my  mitt,  I'd  get  so  nur-r-vous! 
Purty  soon  I'd  be  as  fidgity  as  that  filly 
back  there.  Feelin'  this  ole  click-click 
kind-a  soothes  my  fevered  brow." 

In  a  silence  that  followed  I  watched  a 
whipped-cream  cloud  adrift  on  the  deep- 
est of  deep  blue  skies. 

"Hi,  hum!"  said  Blister  presently,  and 
extending  his  arms  in  a  pretense  of 
stretching,  he  shoved  me  off  the  fence. 


32  BLISTER  JONES 

"You're  welcome,"  he  said  to  my  pro- 
tests, and  added:  "There's  a  nice 
matched  pair." 

A  boy,  leading  a  horse,  was  emerging 
from  the  mouth  of  a  stall. 

The  contrast  between  them  was  start- 
ling— never  had  I  seen  a  horse  with  so 
much  elegant  apparel;  rarely  had  I  seen 
a  boy  with  so  little.  The  boy,  followed 
by  the  horse,  began  to  walk  a  slow  circle 
not  far  from  where  we  sat.  Suddenly  the 
boy  addressed  Blister. 

"Say,  loan  me  the  makin's,  will  you, 
pal?"  he  drawled. 

From  his  hip  pocket  Blister  produced 
some  tobacco  in  a  stained  muslin  bag 
and  a  wad  of  crumpled  cigarette  papers. 
These  he  tossed  toward  the  boy. 

"Yours  trooly,"  muttered  that  worthy, 
as  he  picked  up  the  "makin's".  "Heard 
the  news  about  Hicky  Rogers?"  he 
asked,  while  he  rolled  a  cigarette. 

"Nothin',  except  he's  a  crooked  little 
snipe,"  Blister  answered. 


TWO  RINGERS  33 

"Huh!  that  ain't  news,"  said  the  boy. 
"They've  ruled  him  off— that's  what  I 
mean." 

"That  don't  surprise  me  none,"  Blister 
stated.  "He's  been  gettin'  too  smart 
around  here  fur  quite  a  while.  It'll  be  a 
good  riddance." 

"Were  you  ever  ruled  off  the  track?" 
I  asked  Blister,  as  the  boy,  exhaling 
clouds  of  cigarette  smoke,  returned  to 
the  slow  walking  of  his  horse.  He  studied 
in  silence  a  moment. 

"Yep — once,"  he  replied.  "I  got  mine 
at  New  Awlins  fur  ringin'  a  hoss.  That 
little  ole  town  has  got  my  goat." 

"When   was   this?"   I   asked. 

"The  year  I  first  starts  conditionin' 
bosses,"  he  answered. 

I  had  noticed  that  dates  totally  eluded 
Blister.  A  past  occurrence  as  far  as  its 
relation  to  time  was  concerned,  he  always 
established  by  a  contemporary  event  of 
the  turf.  Pressed  as  to  when  a  thing  had 
taken  place  he  would  say,  "The  year 


34  BLISTER  JONES 

Salvation  cops  all  the  colt  stakes,"  or 
"The  fall  Whisk-broom  wins  the  Brook- 
lyn Handicap."  This  had  interested  me 
and  I  now  tried  to  get  something  more 
definite  from  him.  He  answered  my 
questions  vaguely. 

"Say,  if  you're  lookin'  fur  that  kind  of 
info,"  he  said  at  last,  "get  the  almanac 
or  the  byciclopedia.  These  year  things 
slide  by  so  easy  I  don't  get  a  good  pike 
at  one,  'fore  another  is  not  more'n  a 
len'th  back,  V  comin'  fast." 

I  saw  it  was  useless. 

"Well,  never  mind  just  when  it  hap- 
pened," I  said.  "Tell  me  about  it." 

"All  right,"  said  Blister.  "Like  I've 
just  said  it  happens  one  winter  at 
New  Awlins,  the  year  after  I  starts  con- 
ditionin'  hosses. 

"Things  break  bad  fur  me  that  winter. 
Whenever  a  piker  can't  win  a  bet  he 
comes  'round,  slaps  me  on  the  wrist,  'n' 
separates  me  from  some  of  my  kale.  I'm 


TWO  RINGERS  35 

so  easy  I  squeezes  my  roll  if  I  meets  a 
child  on  the  street.  The  cops  had  ought 
to  patrol  me,  'cause  larceny'll  sure  be 
committed  every  time  a  live  guy  speaks 
to  me. 

"I've  only  got  three  dogs  in  my  string. 
One  of  'em's  a  mornin'-glory.  He'll 
bust  away  as  if  he's  out  to  make  Salvator 
look  like  a  truck-hoss,  but  he'll  lay  down 
'n'  holler  fur  some  one  to  come  'n'  carry 
him  when  he  hits  the  stretch.  One's  a 
hop-head  'n'  I  has  to  shoot  enough  dope 
into  him  to  make  him  think  he's  Napoleon 
Bonyparte  'fore  he'll  switch  a  fly  off 
hisself.  Then  when  he  sees  how  far 
away  the  wire  is  he  thinks  about  the 
battle  of  Waterloo  'n'  says,  'Take  me  to 
Elby.' 

"I've  got  one  purty  fair  sort  of  a  hoss. 
He's  just  about  ready  to  spill  the  beans, 
fur  some  odds-on,  when  he  gets  cast  in 
the  stall  'n'  throws  his  stifle  out.  The 
vet.  gets  his  stifle  back  in  place. 


36  BLISTER  JONES 

"  'This  boss  must  have  a  year's  com- 
plete rest,'  he  says. 

"  'Yes,  Doc,'  I  says.  '  'N'  when  he 
gets  so  he  can  stand  it,  how'd  a  trip  to 
Europe  do  fur  him?' 

"Things  go  along  like  this  till  I'm 
busted  right.  No,  I  ain't  busted — I'm 
past  that.  I  owes  the  woman  where  I 
eats,  I  owes  the  feed  man,  I  owes  the 
plater,  'n'  I  owes  every  gink  that'll 
stand  fur  a  touch. 

"One  day  a  messenger  boy  comes  'n' 
leans  against  the  stall  door  'n'  pokes  a 
yellow  envelope  at  me. 

"  'Well,  Pierpont,'  I  says,  'what's  the 
good  word?' 

1  'Sign  here.  Two  bits,'  he  says, 
yawnin'. 

"I  sees  where  it  says  'charges  paid/ 
'n'  I  takes  him  by  the  back  of  the  neck 
'n'  he  gets  away  to  a  flyin'  start  fur  the 
gate.  The  message  is  from  Buck  Harms. 

"  'Am  at  the  St  Charles,  meet  me  nine 
a.  m.  to-morrow,'  it  says. 


TWO  RINGERS  37 

"This  Harms  duck  is  named  right, 
'cause  that's  what  he  does  to  every  guy 
he  meets.  He's  so  crooked  he  can  sleep 
on  a  corkscrew.  When  there  ain't  no- 
body else  around  he'll  take  money  out 
of  one  pocket  'n'  put  it  in  another.  He's 
been  ruled  off  twict  'n'  there's  no  chance 
fur  him  to  get  back.  I  wouldn't  stand 
fur  him  only  I'm  in  so  bad  I  has  to  do 
somethin*. 

'  'If  he  takes  any  coin  from  me  he'll 
have  to  be  Hermann,'  I  says  to  myself, 
'n'  I  shows  up  at  the  hotel  the  next 
mawnin'. 

"Harms  is  settin'  in  the  lobby  readin' 
the  dope-sheet.  I  pipes  him  off  'n'  he 
don't  look  good  to  me  fur  a  minute,  but 
I  goes  over  'n'  shakes  his  mitt. 

'Well,  Blister,  old  scout,  how're  they 
breakin'?'  he  says. 

'  'So,  so,'  I  says. 

"  That  right?'  he  says.  'I  hears  dif- 
ferent. Fishhead  Peters  tells  me  they've 
got  you  on  the  ropes/ 


38  BLISTER  JONES 

"  'What  th'  hell  does  that  gassy  Fish- 
head  know  about  me?'  I  says. 

"  'Cut  out  the  stallinY  he  says.  'It 
don't  go  between  friends.  Would  you 
like  to  git  a-holt  of  a  new  roll?' 

'  'I  don't  mind  tellin'  you  that  sooner 

'n  have  my  clothes  tore  I  lets  somebody 

crowd  a  bundle  of  kale  on  to  me,'  I  says. 

'That  sounds  better,'  he  says.   'Come 

on — we'll  take  a  cab  ride.' 

'Where  we  goin'?'  I  asks  him,  as  we 
gets  into  a  cab. 

'  'Goin'  to  look  at  a  hoss,'  he  says. 

"  'What  fur?'  I  says. 

"  'Wait  till  we  git  there  'n'  I'll  tell 
you,'  he  says. 

"We  rides  fur  about  a  hour  'n'  pulls 
up  at  a  barn  out  in  the  edge  of  town. 
We  goes  inside  'n'  there's  a  big  sorrel 
geldin',  with  a  blaize  face,  in  a  box-stall. 

'  'Look  him  over,'  says  Harms.  I 
gets  one  pike  at  the  hoss— 

"'Why!  it's  ole  Friendless!'  I  says. 


TWO  RINGERS  39 

"  'Look  close,'  he  says.  'Wait  till  I 
get  him  outside.' 

"I  looks  the  hoss  over  careful  when 
he's  outside  in  the  light,  'n'  I  don't  know 
what  to  think.  First  I  think  it's  Friend- 
less 'n'  then  I  think  maybe  it  ain't. 

'  'If  it  ain't  Friendless,  it's  his  double !' 
I  says  at  last.  'But  I  think  Friendless  has 
a  white  forefoot.' 

'Well,  it  ain't  Friendless,'  says  Harms 
as  he  leads  the  hoss  into  the  barn.  'And 
you're  right  about  the  white  foot.' 

"Now,  Friendless  is  a  bird  that  ain't 
started  fur  a  year.  Harms  or  some  of  his 
gang  used  to  own  him,  'n'  believe  me, 
he  can  ramble  some  if  everythin'  's  done 
to  suit  him.  He's  a  funny  hoss,  'n'  has 
notions.  If  a  jock'll  set  still  'n'  not  make 
a  move  on  him,  Friendless  runs  a  grand 
race.  But  if  a  boy  takes  holt  of  him  or 
hits  him  with  the  bat,  ole  Friendless  says, 
'Nothin'  doin'  to-day!'  'n'  sulks  all  the 
way.  He'd  have  made  a  great  stake 


40  BLISTER  JONES 

hoss  only  he's  dead  wise  to  how  much 
weight  he's  packin*.  He'll  romp  with 
anythin*  up  to  a  hundred  V  ten,  but 
not  a  pound  over  that  can  you  slip  him. 
Looks  like  he  says  to  hisself,  'They  must 
think  I'm  a  movin'  van,'  'n'  he  lays 
his  ole  ears  back,  'n'  dynamite  won't 
make  him  finish  better'n  fourth.  This 
little  habit  of  his'n  spoils  him  'cause  he's 
too  good,  'n'  the  best  he  gets  from  a 
handicapper  is  a  hundred  'n'  eighteen — 
that  kind  of  weight  lets  him  out. 

"Goin'  back  in  the  cab  Harms  tells  me 
why  he  sends  fur  me.  This  dog  he's 
just  showed  me  's  named  Alcyfras.  He's 
been  runnin'  out  on  the  coast  'n'  he's  a 
mutt — he  can't  beat  a  fat  man.  Harms 
sees  him  one  day  at  Oakland,  'n'  has  a 
guy  buy  him. 

"Harms  brings  this  pup  back  East. 
He  has  his  papers  'n'  description  all 
regular.  The  guy  that  buys  him  ain't 
wise — he's  just  a  boob  Harms  is  stallin' 


TWO  RINGERS  41 

with.  What  he  wants  me  to  do  is  to  take 
the  hoss  in  my  string,  get  him  identified 
'n'  start  him  a  couple  of  times;  then  when 
the  odds  is  real  juicy  I'm  to  start  Friend- 
less under  the  dog's  name  'n'  Harms  'n' 
his  gang'll  bet  him  to  a  whisper  at  the 
poolrooms  in  Chicago  'n'  New  York. 

"  'Where's  Friendless  now?'  I  asks 
him. 

"  'They're  gettin'  him  ready  on  a  bull- 
ring up  in  Illinois,'  says  Harms.  'He's 
in  good  shape  'n'  '11  be  dead  ripe  time 
we  get  ready  to  ship  him  down  here.  I 
figure  we'll  put  this  gag  across  about 
Christmas.' 

'What  does  the  boy  wonder  get  fur 
swappin'  mules  with  the  Association?'  I 
says.  'I'm  just  dyin'  to  know  what  Santa 
Claus'll  bring  little  Alfred/ 

'You  get  all  expenses,  twenty-five 
bucks  a  week,  'n'  a  nice  slice  of  the  velvet 
when  we  cleans  up,'  says  Harms. 

"  'Nix,  on  that  noise!'  says  I.    'If  you 


42  BLISTER  JONES 

or  some  other  benevolent  gink  don't 
crowd  five  hundred  iron  dollars  on  G. 
Percival  the  day  before  the  bird  flies, 
he  won't  leave  the  perch.' 

'  'Don't  you  trust  me?'  says  Harms. 

'  'Sure,'  I  says,  'better'n  Cassie  Chad- 
wick.' 

"He  argues,  but  it  don't  get  him 
nothin'  so  he  says  he'll  come  across  the 
day  before  Friendless  brings  home  the 
bacon,  'n'  I  make  him  cough  enough  to 
pay  what  I  owes.  The  next  day  a  swipe 
leads  Alcyfras  out  to  the  track. 

'"What's  the  name  of  that  dog?' 
Peewee  Simpson  yells,  as  I'm  cross-tyin' 
the  hoss  at  the  stall  door. 

'  'Alcyfras,'  I  says,  as  I  pulls  the 
blanket  off.  Peewee  comes  over  'n'  looks 
at  the  hoss  a  minute. 

"'Alcy  nothin'!'  he  says.  'If  that 
ain't  Friendless,  I  never  sees  him.' 

"I  digs  up  the  roll  Harms  give  me. 

"I'll  gamble  this  pinch  of  spinach  his 
name  is  Alcyfras,'  I  says. 


TWO  RINGERS  43 

'You  kin  name  what  you  like  far 
as  I'm  concerned,  'n'  change  it  every 
mawnin'  before  breakfast/  says  Peewee. 
'But  if  you  starts  him  as  any  thin'  but 
Friendless  we  don't  see  your  freckled 
face  'round  here  no  more.' 

"By  this  time  a  bunch  has  gathered 
'n'  soon  there's  a  swell  argument  on. 
One  guy'll  say  it's  Friendless  'n'  another 
'11  say  it  ain't.  Finally  somebody  says 
to  send  fur  Duckfoot  Johnson,  who 
swiped  Friendless  fur  two  years.  They 
send  for  him. 

"When  Duckfoot  conies  he  busts 
through  the  crowd  like  he's  the  paddock 
judge. 

'  'Lemme  look  at  dis  hoss,'  he  says. 

"Everybody  draws  back  'n'  Duckfoot 
looks  the  hoss  over  'n'  then  runs  his 
hand  under  his  barrel  close  to  the  front 
legs. 

:  'No,  sah,  dis  ain'  Frien'less,'  he  says. 
'Frien'less  has  a  white  foot  on  de  off 
front  laig  and  besides  dat  he  has  a  rough- 


44  BLISTER  JONES 

feeling  scab  on  de  belly  whar  he  done 
rip  hisself  somehow  befo'  I  gits  him. 
Dis  dawg  am  smooth  as  a  possum.' 

"That  settles  all  arguments.  You 
can't  fool  a  swipe  'bout  a  hoss  he's  taken 
care  of.  He  knows  every  hair  on  him. 

"One  day  I'm  clockin'  this  Alcyfras 
while  a  exercise-boy  sends  him  seven- 
eights.  When  I  looks  at  my  clock  I 
thinks  they  ought  to  lay  a  thousand-to- 
one  against  the  mutt,  after  he  starts  a 
couple  of  times.  Just  then  somethin' 
comes  'n'  stands  in  front  of  me  V  begins 
to  make  little  squeaky  noises. 

'  'Are  you  Mr.  Blister?'  it  says. 

"I  bats  my  eyes  'n'  nods. 

'  'I've  got  'em  again,'  I  thinks. 

'  'Oh,  what  a  relief!'  it  squeaks.  'I 
just  thought  I'd  never  find  you.  I've 
been  looking  all  over  the  race  course  for 
you!' 

'  'Gracious !  Ferdy,  you've  had  a  awful 
time,  ain't  you?'  I  says.  'If  you  want 


TWO  RINGERS  45 

to  stay  out  of  trouble,  read  your  Ladies' 
Home  Journal  more  careful.' 

f  'My  name  is  Alcibides  Tuttle,'  says 
pink  toes,  drawin'  hisself  up.  'And  I  am^ 
the  owner  of  the  horse  called  Alcyfras. 
I  purchased  this  animal  upon  the  advice 
of  my  friend,  Mr.  Harms,  whom  I  met 
in  San  Francisco.' 

"Say!  I've  worked  fur  some  nutty 
owners,  but  this  yap's  the  limit. 

*T\£ell,  Alci,  here  comes  Alcy  now,' 
I  says,  as  the  boy  comes  up  with  the 
dog,  'n'  my  new  boss  stretches  his  num- 
ber three  neck  out  of  his  number  nine 
collar  'n'  blinks  at  the  hoss. 

"Alcibides  comes  back  to  the  stall 
with  me  'n'  from  then  on  he  sticks  to  me 
tighter  'n  a  woodtick.  He's  out  to  the 
track  every  mawnin'  by  nine  'n'  he  don't 
leave  till  after  the  races.  He  asks  me 
eighty-seven  squeaky  questions  a  min- 
ute all  the  time  we're  together.  I  calls 
him  'n'  his  hoss  both  Alcy  fur  a  while, 


46  BLISTER  JONES 

but  I  changes  him  to  Elsy — that  was  less 
confusin*  'n'  it  suits  him  better. 

"The  next  week  I  starts  Alcyfras 
among  a  bunch  of  crabs  in  a  seven  fur- 
long sellin'  race,  'n'  the  judges  hold  up 
his  entrance  till  I  can  identify  him.  I 
hands  them  his  papers  'n'  they  looks  up 
the  description  of  Friendless  in  the  stud- 
book,  where  it  shows  he's  got  one  white 
foot.  Then  they  wire  to  the  breeder  of 
Alcyfras  'n'  to  the  tracks  in  California 
where  the  dog  has  started.  The  answers 
come  back  all  proper  'n'  to  cinch  it  I 
produce  Elsy  as  owner.  They  look  Elsy 
over  while  he  tells  'em  he's  bought  the 
hoss. 

1  'Gentlemen,'  says  Colonel  King  to 
the  other  judges,  'the  mere  sight  of  Mr. 
Tuttle  has  inspired  me  with  full  confi- 
dence in  his  entry  and  himself.'  He 
bows  to  Elsy  'n'  Elsy  bows  to  him.  The 
rest  of  the  judges  turn  'round  'n'  look 
at  somethin'  over  across  the  center-field. 


TWO  RINGERS  47 

"I  tells  Elsy  his  boss  is  all  to  the  merry, 
but  we  don't  want  him  to  win  till  the 
odds  get  right.  He's  standin'  beside  me 
at  the  race,  'n'  Alcyfras  runs  next  to  last. 
'  'Of  course,  I  realize  you  are  more 
familiar  with  horse  racing  than  myself/ 
he  says;  'but  I  think  you  should  have 
allowed  him  to  do  a  little  better.  What 
method  did  you  employ  to  make  him 
remain  so  far  in  the  rear?' 

1  'I  tells  the  jock  to  pull  him/  I  says. 
The  boy  was  usin'  the  bat  half  the  trip, 
but  Elsy  never  tumbles. 

'What  do  you  say  to  a  jockey  when 
you  desire  him  to  lose?'  Elsy  asks  me. 

"  'I    just   say— "Grab    this    one,"  '    I 
says. 

'What  do  you  say  when  you  require 
him  to  win?'  he  squeaks. 

'I  don't  say  nothin'.  I  hands  him 
a  ticket  on  the  hoss  'n'  the  jock  wins  if 
he  has  to  get  down  'n'  carry  the  dog 
home/  I  says. 


48  BLISTER  JONES 

"Not  long  after  this,  Friendless  gets 
in  from  Illinois.  I  look  him  over  in  the 
car  V  I  see  he's  not  ready.  He's  not 
near  ready. 

'What  kind  of  shoemakers  give  this 
hoss  his  prep.?'  I  asks  Harms. 

'What's  wrong  with  him?'  he  says. 
'He  looks  good  to  me.' 

'  'He  ain't  ready,'  I  says.  'Look  at 
him  'n'  feel  him!  He'll  need  ten  days 
more  work  'n'  a  race  under  his  belt  'fore 
he's  safe  to  bet  real  money  on.' 

"Harms  buys  some  stuff  at  a  drug 
store,  'n'  gets  busy  with  the  white  fore- 
foot. 

'  'Only  God  A'mighty  can  make  as 
good  a  sorrel  as  that!'  he  says  when  he's 
through.  'Here's  the  can  of  dope.  Don't 
let  her  fade.' 

'What  are  you  goin'  to  do  about  this 
Elsy  person?'  I  says.  'While  I  ain't 
sayin'  it's  pure  joy  to  have  him  around, 
I  ain't  got  the  heart  to  hand  it  to  him. 
I  don't  mind  trimmin'  boobs — that's 


TWO  RINGEKS  49 

what  they're  for — but  this  Elsy  thing  is 
too  soft.  He  must  be  in  quite  a  wad  on 
this  bum  hoss  of  his'n.' 

"'Who's  Elsy?'  says  Harms. 

"I  tells  him,  'n'  he  laughs. 
£  'Is  that  what  you  call  him?'  he  says. 
'What's  bitin'  you — ain't  Friendless  goin' 
to  win  a  nice  purse  for  him?' 

"About  ten  o'clock  that  night  Alcyfras 
goes  out  one  gate  'n'  Friendless  comes 
in  another.  I  keeps  the  foot  stained 
good,  'n'  shuts  the  stall  door  whenever 
Duckfoot  shows  up.  In  ten  days  the 
hoss  is  right  on  edge  'n'  one  race'll  put 
the  finish  on  him,  so  I  enter  him,  in  a 
bunch  of  skates,  as  Alcyfras.  I  gives  the 
mount  to  Lou  Smith — he  ain't  much  of 
a  jock,  but  he'll  ride  to  orders.  Just 
before  the  race  I  has  a  heart  to  heart 
talk  with  Lou. 

"  'Fur  this  hoss  to  win  you  don't  make 
a  move  on  him,'  I  says.  'If  you  hand 
him  the  bat  or  take  hold  of  him  at  the 
get-away  he  sulks.' 


50  BLISTER  JONES 

"  'All  right,  I  lets  him  alone,'  says 
Lou. 

"  'When  I'm  ready  fur  you  to  let  him 
alone  I  slips  you  a  nice  ticket  on  this 
bird.  You  ain't  got  a  ticket  to-day,  have 
you?'  I  says. 

'  'Not   so's   you   could    notice,'    says 
Lou. 

"  'Are  you  hep?'  I  says. 

'  'I  got-cha,  Bo,'  says  Lou. 

"I  see  Lou's  arm  rise  'n'  fall  a  couple 
of  times  at  the  start  'n'  ole  Friendless 
finished  fifth,  his  ears  laid  back,  sulkier 
'n  a  grass  widow  at  a  married  men's 
picnic. 

'You  let  him  do  better  to-day,'  says 
Elsy.  'Isn't  it  time  to  allow  him  to 
win?' 

'  'He  wins  his  next  out,'  I  says. 

"I  tell  Harms  we're  ready  fur  the  big 
show  'n'  I  looks  fur  a  nice  race  to  drop 
the  good  thing  into.  But  it  starts  to 
rain  'n'  it  keeps  it  up  a  week.  Friendless 


TWO  RINGERS  51 

ain't  a  mudder  'n'  we  has  to  have  a 
fast  track  fur  our  little  act  of  separating 
the  green  stuff  from  the  poolrooms.  I'm 
afraid  the  bird  stales  off  if  I  don't  get  a 
race  into  him,  so  I  enters  him  among  a 
pretty  fair  bunch  of  platers,  to  keep  him 
on  edge. 

"Three  days  before  the  race  the 
weather  gets  good  'n'  the  track  begins  to 
dry  out  fast.  I  see  it's  goin'  to  be  right 
fur  my  race  'n'  I  meets  Harms  'n'  tells 
him  to  wire  his  bunch  to  bet  their  heads 
off. 

8  'I  don't  like  this  race,'  he  says,  when 
he  looks  at  the  entries.  'There's  two 
or  three  live  ones  in  here.  This  Black- 
jack ain't  such  a  bad  pup,  'n'  this  here 
Pandora  runs  a  bang-up  race  her  last 
out.  Let's  wait  fur  somethin'  easier.' 

'Well,  if  you  ain't  a  sure-thing  better, 
I  never  gets  my  lamps  on  one!'  I  says. 
'Don't  you  want  me  to  saw  the  legs  off 
the  rest  of  them  dogs  to  earn  my  five 


52  BLISTER  JONES 

hundred?  You  must  have  forgot  ole 
Friendless.  He's  only  got  ninety-six 
pounds  up!  He'll  tin  can  sure!  He  kin 
fall  down  'n'  roll  home  faster  than  them 
kind  of  hosses.' 

"But  Harms  won't  take  a  chance,  so 
I  goes  back  to  the  track  'n'  I  was  sore. 
'That  guy's  a  hot  sport,  not!'  I  thinks. 

"I  hates  to  tell  Elsy  the  hoss  he  thinks 
is  his  won't  win — he'd  set  his  little  heart 
on  it  so.  I  don't  tell  him  till  the  day 
before  the  race,  'n'  he  gets  right  sassy 
about  it.  I  never  see  him  so  spunky. 

'  'As  owner,  I  insist  that  you  allow 
Alcyfras  to  win  this  race,'  he  says,  'n'  goes 
away  in  a  pet  when  I  tells  him  nix. 

"The  day  of  the  race  I  don't  see  Elsy 
at  all. 

'You  ain't  got  a  ticket  to-day,  'n' 
you  know  the  answer,'  I  says  to  Lou 
Smith  as  the  parade  starts.  He  don't 
say  nothin'  but  nods,  so  I  think  he's 
fixed. 


TWO  RINGERS  52 

"When  I  come  through  the  bettin' 
ring  I  can't  believe  my  eyes.  There's 
Alcyfras  at  four-to-one  all  down  the 
line.  He  opened  at  fifty,  so  somebody 
has  bet  their  clothes  on  him. 

'Where  does  all  this  play  on  Alcyfras 
come  from?'  I  says  to  a  booky. 

'  'A  lost  shrimp  wanders  in  here  and 
starts  it,'  says  the  booky. 

'What  does  he  look  like?'  I  says. 

'  'Like  a  maiden's  prayer,'  says  the 
booky,  'n'  I  beats  it  out  to  the  stand. 

"Elsy  is  at  the  top  of  the  steps  lookin' 
kind  of  haughty,  'n'  say! — he's  got  a 
bundle  of  tickets  a  foot  thick  in  his 
hand. 

"  'What  dead  one's  name  is  on  all 
them  soovenirs?'  I  says,  pointin'  to  the 
tickets. 

*  'Mr.  Blister,'  Jie  says,  'after  our  con- 
versation yesterday  I  made  inquiry  con- 
cerning the  rights  of  a  trainer.  I  was 
informed  that  a  trainer,  as  a  paid  em- 


54  BLISTER  JONES 

ployee,  is  under  the  direction  of  the  owner 
— his  employer.  You  refused  to  allow 
my  horse  to  win,  contrary  to  my  wishes. 
You  had  no  right  to  do  so.  I  intend  that 
he  shall  win,  and  have  wagered  accord- 
ingly— these  tickets  are  on  Alcyfras.' 
He's  nervous  'n'  fidgity,  'n'  his  voice  is 
squeakier  'n  ever. 

"  'Well,  Mr.  Belmont,'  I  says,  'did 
you  happen  to  give  instructions  to  any 
more  of  your  employees,  your  jockey,  fur 
instance?' 

'  'I  have  adopted  the  method  you 
informed  me  was  the  correct  one,'  he 
says,  swellin'  up.  'I  gave  a  ticket  at 
fifty-to-one  calling  for  one  hundred  and 
two  dollars  to  Mr.  Smith,  and  explained 
to  him  that  I  was  the  owner.' 

"Before  Elsy  gets  through  I'm  dopey. 
I  looks  over  his  tickets  'n'  he  figures  to 
win  eight  thousand  to  the  race.  I  have 
two  iron  men  in  my  jeans — I  don't  even 
go  down  'n'  bet  it. 


TWO  RINGERS  55 

"  'What's  the  use?'  I  says  to  myself. 

"I  can't  hardly  see  the  race,  I'm  so 
groggy  from  the  jolt  Elsy  hands  me. 
Friendless  breaks  in  front  and  stays  there 
all  the  way.  Lou  Smith  just  sets  still 
'n'  lets  the  hoss  rate  hisself.  That  ole 
hound  comes  down  the  stretch  a-rompin', 
his  ears  flick-flackin'  'n'  a  smile  on  his 
face.  He  wins  by  five  len'ths  'n'  busts 
the  track  record  fur  the  distance  a  quarter 
of  a  second. 

"Then  it  begins  to  get  brisk  around 
there.  I  figger  to  have  Alcyfras  all 
warmed  up  outside  the  fence  the  day 
Friendless  wins.  After  the  race  I'd  put 
him  in  the  stall  'n'  send  Friendless  out 
the  gate.  Elsy,  practisin'  the  owner  act, 
has  gummed  the  game — Alcyfras  is  over 
in  the  other  end  of  town. 

"Ole  Friendless  bustin'  the  track  record 
is  the  final  blow.  I  don't  hardly  get  to 
the  stall  'fore  here  comes  the  paddock 
judge  'n'  his  assistant. 


56  BLISTER  JONES 

'We  want  this  boss  and  you,  too, 
over  at  the  paddock,'  he  says.  'What's 
the  owner's  name?' 

"  'Alcibides  Tuttle,'  I  says. 

'  'Is  that  all?'  says  the  paddock  judge. 
'Go  get  him,  Billy!'  he  says  to  his  assist- 
ant. 'You'll  likely  find  him  cashin' 
tickets.' 

"When  we  gets  to  the  paddock,  there's 
Colonel  King  and  the  rest  of  the  judges. 
'Take    his    blanket    off,'    says    the 
colonel,  when  we  leads  in  the  hoss. 

'  'He's  red-hot,  Colonel,'  I  says. 

'  'So  am  I,'  says  the  colonel.  'Who 
was  caretaker  for  the  horse  Friendless 
when  he  was  racing?'  he  asks  some  of 
the  ginnies. 

'  'Duckfoot  Johnson,'  says  the  whole 
bunch  at  once. 

'  'Send  for  him,'  says  the  colonel. 

'  Ts  hyar,  boss,'  says  Duckfoot,  from 
the  back  of  the  crowd. 

1  'Come  and  look  this  horse  over,'  says 
the  colonel. 


TWO  RINGERS  57 

'  'I  done  looked  him  over  befo',  boss/ 
says  Duckfoot,  when  he  gets  to  the  colo- 
nel. 

'When?'  says  the  colonel.  'When 
did  you  see  him?' 

'  'Bout  a  month  ago/  says  Duckfoot. 

'  'Did  you  recognize  him?'  says  the 
colonel. 

'Yes,  sah/  says  Duckfoot,  'I  done 
recnomize  him  thoully  fum  his  haid  to 
his  tail,  but  I  ain'  never  seed  him  befo'.' 

'  'Recnomize  him  again/  the  colonel 
tells  him. 

'  'Boss/  says  Duckfoot,  'some  folks 
'low  dis  hoss  am  Frien'less,  but  hit  ain'. 
Ef  hits  Frien'less,  an'  yo'  puts  yo'  han' 
hyar  on  his  belly  dey  is  a  rough-feelin' 
scah.  Dis  hoss  am  puffeckly  smo-o — ' 
then  he  stops  'n*  begins  to  get  ashy 
'round  the  mouth. 

"'Well?'  says  the  colonel.       'What's 
the  matter?' 

c  'Lawd  Gawd,  boss!  Dis  am  Frien'- 
less .  .  .  Hyar's  de  scah!'  says  Duck- 


58  BLISTER  JONES 

foot,  his  eyes  a-rollin'.  Then  he  goes 
'round  'n'  looks  at  the  hoss  in  front. 
'Whar  his  white  foot  at?'  he  asks  the 
colonel. 

'That's  what  we  are  about  to  ascer- 
tain,' says  the  colonel.  'Boy,'  he  says 
to  a  ginny,  'run  out  to  the  drug  store 
with  this  dollar  and  bring  me  back  a 
pint  of  benzine  and  a  tooth-brush.' 
"The  ginny  beats  it. 

'You  may  blanket  this  horse  now,' 
the  colonel  says  to  me. 

"When  the  ginny  gets  back,  Colonel 
King  pours  the  benzine  on  the  tooth- 
brush 'n'  goes  to  work  on  the  off-forefoot. 
It  ain't  long  till  it's  nice  'n'  white  again. 

'That  is  most  remarkable!'  says  Elsy, 
who's   watchin'   the   colonel. 

'  'In  my  opinion,  Mr.  Tut  tie,'  says  the 
colonel,  'the  only  remarkable  feature  of 
this  affair  is  yourself.  I  can't  get  you 
properly  placed.  The  Association  will 
take  charge  of  this  horse  until  the  judges 
rule.' 


TWO  RINGERS  59 

"The  next  day  the  judges  send  fur  me 
V  Elsy.  It  don't  take  Colonel  King 
thirty  seconds  to  rule  me  off — I  don't 
get  back  fur  two  years,  neither!  Then 
the  colonel  looks  at  Elsy. 

"  'Mr.  Tuttle,'  he  says,  'if  your  con- 
nection with  this  business  is  as  innocent 
as  it  seems,  you  should  be  protected 
against  a  further  appearance  on  the  turf. 
On  the  other  hand,  if  you  have  acted  a 
part  in  this  little  drama,  the  turf  should 
be  protected  against  you.  In  either 
case  the  judges  desire  to  bring  your 
career  as  an  owner  to  a  close;  and  we 
hereby  bar  you  and  your  entries  from  all 
tracks  of  the  Association.  This  is  final 
and  irrevocable.' 

"Three  years  after  that  I'm  at  Hot 
Springs,  'n'  I  drops  into  McGlade's  place 
one  night  to  watch  'em  gamble.  There's 
a  slim  guy  dealin*  faro  fur  the  house,  *n* 
he's  got  a  green  eye-shade  on.  All  of  a 
sudden  he  looks  up  at  me. 

"  'Blister,'  he  says,  'do  you  ever  tumble 


60  BLISTER  JONES 

there's  two  ringers  in  the  New  Awlins 
deal?  Me  V  Buck  Harms  has  quite  a 
time  puttin'  it  over — without  slippin' 
you  five  hundred.' 

"It's   Elsy!    'N'  say! — his  voice   ain't 
any  squeakier  'n  mine!" 


WANTED— A  RAINBOW 

AT  OUR  last  meeting  Blister  had  told 
me  of  a  "ringing"  in  years  gone  by 
that  had  ended  disastrously  for  him. 
And  now  as  we  idled  in  the  big  empty 
grand-stand  a  full  hour  before  it  would 
be  electrified  by  the  leaping  phrase, 
"They're  off!"  I  desired  further  remin- 
iscences. 

"Ringing  a  horse  must  be  a  risky 
business?"  I  ventured. 

"Humph!"  grunted  Blister,  evidently 
declining  to  comment  on  the  obvious. 
Then  he  glanced  at  me  with  a  dry 
whimsical  smile.  "I  see  that  little  ole 
pad  stickin'  out  of  your  pocket,"  he 
said.  "Ain't  she  full  of  race-boss  talk 
yet?" 

"Always  room  for  one  more,"  I  re- 
plied, frankly  producing  the  note-book. 
61 


62  BLISTER  JONES 

"Well,  I  guess  I'm  the  goat,"  he  said 
resignedly.  "I  had  figured  to  sick  you 
on  to  Peewee  Simpson  to-day,  but  he 
ain't  around,  so  I'll  spill  some  chatter 
about  ringin'  a  hoss  among  the  society 
bunch  one  time,  'n'  then  I'll  buy  a  bucket 
of  suds." 

'Til  buy  the  beer,"  I  stated  with 
emphasis. 

"All  right — just  so  we  get  it — I'll  be 
dryer'n  a  covered  bridge,"  said  Blister. 

"This  ringin'  I  mentions,"  he  went  on, 
"happens  while  I'm  ruled  off. 

"At  the  get-away  I've  got  a  job  with 
a  Chicago  buyer,  who  used  to  live  in 
New  York.  This  guy  has  a  big  ratty 
barn.  He  deals  mostly  in  broken-down 
skates  that  he  sells  to  pedlers  'n' 
cabmen.  Once  in  a  while  he  takes  a  flier 
in  high-grade  stuff,  'n'  one  day  he  buys 
a  team  of  French  coach  hosses  from  a 
breedin*  farm  owned  by  a  millionaire. 

"Believe  me  they  was  a  grand  pair— 


WANTED— A  RAINBOW        63 

seal  brown,  sixteen  hands  'n'  haired  like 
babies.  They  fans  their  noses  with  their 
knees,  when  get's  the  word,  V  after  I 
sits  behind  'em  'n'  watches  their  hock- 
action  fur  a  while  I  feels  like  apologizin' 
to  'em  fur  makin'  'em  haul  a  bum  like 
me. 

'These  dolls  go  East,'  says  the  guy  I 
works  fur.  'They  don't  pull  no  pig- 
sticker in  this  burg.  They'll  be  at  the 
Garden  so  much  they'll  head  fur  Madison 
Square  whenever  they're  taken  out.' 

"He  ships  the  pair  East  'n'  sends  me 
with  'em  as  caretaker.  I  deliver  'em  to 
a  swell  sales  company  up-town  in  New 
York. 

"This  concern  has  some  joint — take  it 
from  me — every  floor  is  just  bulgin' 
with  hosses  that's  so  classy  they  sends 
'em  to  a  manicure  parlor  'stead  of  a 
blacksmith's  shop. 

"There's  a  big  show-ring,  with  a  bal- 
cony all  'round  it,  on  the  top  floor. 


64  BLISTER  JONES 

They  take  my  pair  up  there  'n'  hook  'em 
to  a  hot  wagon  painted  yellow,  'n'  the 
company's  main  squeeze,  named  Brown, 
conies  up  to  see  'em  act.  I'm  facin'  the 
door  just  as  a  guy  starts  to  lead  a  hoss 
into  the  show-ring.  The  pair  swings  by, 
this  hoss  shies  back  sudden  'n'  I  see 
him  make  a  queer  move  with  his  off  rear 
leg.  Brown  don't  see  it — he's  got  his 
back  to  the  door. 

"The  guy  leads  the  hoss  up  to  us. 

'  'Here's  that  hunter  I  phoned  you 
about,  Mr.  Brown,'  he  says.  The  hoss 
is  a  toppy  trick — bright  bay,  short 
backed,  good  coupled  'n'  '11  weigh  eleven 
hundred  strong.  But  he's  got  a  knot  on 
his  near-fore  that  shows  plain. 

'  'I  thought  you  told  me  he  was 
sound?'  says  Brown,  lookin'  at  the  knot. 

"  *  What's  the  matter  with  you,  Mr. 
Brown?'  says  the  guy.  'That  little 
thing  don't  bother  him.  Any  eight-year- 
old  hunter  that  knows  the  game  is  bound 
to  be  blemished  in  front.' 


WANTED— A  RAINBOW        65 

"  'Can  you  tell  an  unsound  one  when 
you  look  at  him?'  Brown  asks  me. 
'  'I  can  smell  a  dink  a  mile  off,5  I  says. 

"  'Here's  an  outside  party,'  says  Brown; 
'let's  hear  what  he  has  to  say.  Feel  that 
bump,  young  man!'  he  says  to  me. 

"I  runs  my  hand  over  the  knot. 

"  'That  don't  hurt  him,'  I  says.  'It's 
on  the  shin  'n'  part  of  it's  thick  skin.' 

"  'There!'  says  the  guy.  'Your  own 
man's  against  you.' 

"  'He's  not  my  man,'  says  Brown, 
lookin'  at  me  disgusted. 

'This  ain't  my  funeral,'   I   says   to 
Brown.     J  'N'  I  ain't  had  a  call  to  butt 
in.    If  you  tells  me  to  butt — I  butts.' 
'  'Go  to  it,'  says  Brown. 

"  'Do  you  throw  a  crutch  in  with  this 
one?'  I  says  to  the  guy. 

'  'What  does  he  need  a  crutch  for?' 
he  says,  givin'  me  a  sour  look. 

"I  takes  the  hoss  by  the  head,  backs 
him  real  sudden,  'n'  he  lifts  the  off-rear 
high  'n'  stiff. 


66  BLISTER  JONES 

"  'He's  a  stringer,'  I  says. 

"Brown  gives  the  guy  the  laugh. 

"  'You  might  get  thirty  dollars  from 
a  Jew  pedler  for  him,'  he  says.  'He'll 
make  a  high-class  hunter — for  paper, 
rags  and  old  iron.' 

"  'How  did  you  know  that  horse  was 
string-halted  so  quick?'  says  Brown  to 
me  when  the  guy  has  gone. 

'  'I  told  you  I  can  smell  a  dink,'  I  says. 
But  I  don't  tell  him  what  I  sees  at  the 
door. 

'  'I  think  we  could  use  you  and  your 
nose  around  here,*  he  says.  'Are  you 
stuck  on  Chicago?' 

'  'Me  fur  this  joint,'  I  says,  lookin' 
'round.  'Do  I  have  to  get  my  hair 
waved  more  'n'  twict  a  week?' 

'We'll  waive  that  in  your  case,'  he 
says,  laughin'  at  his  bum  joke. 

'  'Don't  do  that  again,'  I  says.  'I've 
a  notion  to  quit  right  here.' 

c  'I'd    hate  to  lose   an   old    employee 


WANTED— A  RAINBOW       67 

like  you — I'll  have  to  be  more  careful,'  he 
says — 'n'  I'm  workin'  fur  Mr.  Brown. 

"About  a  week  after  this,  I'm  bringin' 
a  hackney  up  to  the  showroom  fur  Brown 
to  look  at,  when  a  young  chap  dressed 
like  a  shoffer  stops  me. 

"  (I  wish  to  see  Mr.  Brown,  my  man,' 
he  says.  'Can  you  tell  me  where  he  is?' 

"No  shofe  can  spring  this  'my  man' 
stuff  on  me,  'n'  get  away  with  it.  But 
a  blind  kitten  can  see  this  guy's  all  the 
gravy.  There's  somethin'  about  him 
makes  you  think  the  best  ain't  near 
as  good  as  he  wants.  I  tells  him  to  come 
along  with  me,  'n'  when  we  gets  up  to 
the  showroom  he  sticks  a  card  at  Brown. 
'Yes,  indeed — Mr.  Van  Voast!'  says 
Brown,  when  he  squints  at  the  card. 
'You're  almost  the  only  member  of  your 
family  I  have  been  unable  to  serve.  I 
believe  I  have  read  that  you  are  devoted 
to  the  motor  game.' 

"  'That's    an    indiscretion    I   hope   to 


68  BLISTER  JONES 

rectify — I  want  a  hunter/  says  the  young 
chap. 

"  'Take  that  horse  down  and  bring  up 
Sally  Waters/  says  Brown  to  me. 

"This  Sally  Waters  is  a  chestnut 
mare  that's  kep*  in  a  big  stall  where  she 
gets  the  best  light  V  air  in  the  buildin'. 
A  lot  of  guys  have  looked  at  her,  but  the 
price  is  so  fierce  nobody  takes  her. 

"  'Is  that  the  best  you  have?'  says  the 
young  chap,  when  I  gets  back  with  her. 
'Yes,  Mr.  Van  Voast/  says  Brown. 
'And  she's  as  good  as  ever  stood  on  four 
legs!  She'll  carry  your  weight  nicely, 
too.' 

'  'Is  she  fast?'  says  the  young  chap. 

'  'After  racing  at  ninety  miles  an 
hour,  anything  in  horse-flesh  would  seem 
slow  to  you,  I  presume/  says  Brown. 
'But  she  is  an  extremely  fast  hunter,  and 
very  thorough  at  a  fence.' 

'  'Do  you  know  Ferguson's  Macbeth?' 
says  the  young  chap. 


WANTED— A  RAINBOW        69 

c  'I  ought  to,'  says  Brown.  'We  im- 
ported Macbeth  and  Mr.  Ferguson  bought 
him  from  me.' 

"The  young  chap  studies  a  minute. 

'  'I  might  as  well  tell  you  that  I  want 
a  hunter  to  beat  Macbeth  for  the  Mel- 
ford  Cup/  he  says  at  last. 

"  'Oh,  oh!'  says  Brown.  That's  too 
large  an  order,  Mr.  Van  Voast — I  can't 
fill  it.' 

'You  don't  think  this  mare  can  beat 
Macbeth?'  says  the  young  chap. 

'  'No,  sir,  I  do  not,'  says  Brown. 
'Nor  any  other  hunter  I  ever  saw.  There 
might  be  something  in  England  that 
would  be  up  to  it,  but  I  don't  know 
what  it  would  be — and  money  wouldn't 
buy  it  if  I  knew/ 

"The  young  chap  won't  look  at  the 
mare  no  more,  'n'  Brown  tells  me  to  put 
her  up.  I  hustles  her  back  to  the  stall, 
'n'  goes  down  to  the  street  door  'n'  waits. 
There's  a  big  gray  automobile  at  the 


70  BLISTER  JONES 

curb,  with  six  guns  stickin'  out  of  her 
side  in  front — she  looks  like  a  battle- 
ship. Pretty  soon  the  young  chap  comes 
out  'n'  starts  to  board  her  'n'  I  braces 
him. 

"  'I  think  I  know  where  you  can  get 
the  hoss  you're  lookin'  fur/  I  says. 

"He  stares  at  me  kind-a  puzzled  fur 
a  minute. 

*  'Oh,  yes,  you  are  the  man  who  brought 
the  mare  up-stairs/  he  says.  'What 
leads  you  to  believe  you  can  find  a 
hunter  good  enough  to  beat  Macbeth?' 

'  'I  ain't  said  nothin'  about  a  hunter/ 
I  says.  'Would  you  stand  fur  a  ringer?' 

'  'I  think  I  get  your  inference/  he 
says.  'Be  a  little  more  specific,  please.' 

1  'If  I  puts  you  hep  to  a  hoss  that  ain't 
no  more  a  hunter  than  that  automobile/ 
I  says,  'but  can  run  like  the  buzz-wagon 
'n'  jump  like  a  hunter — could  you  use 
him  in  your  business?' 

'What  sort  of  a  horse  would  that 
be?'  he  says. 


WANTED— A  RAINBOW        71 

'  'A  thoroughbred/  I  says.     'A  bang- 
tail/ 

'  'Oh — a  runner/  he  says.     'Do  you 
know  anything  about  the  runners?' 

'  'A  few/  I  says.     'I'm  on  the  track 
nine  years/ 

'What  are  you  doing  here?'  he  says. 
"  'Ruled  off/  I  says. 
"  'Hm-m!'  he  says.     'What  for?' 
c  'Ringin'/  I  says. 

'You  seem  to  run  to  that  sort  of 
thing/  he  says.  'What's  your  name? 
he  asks. 

1  'Blister  Jones/  I  says. 
"  'Delightful!'   he   says.     'I'm  glad  I 
met    you.      Who    has    this    remarkable 
horse?' 

'  Teewee  Simpson/  I  says. 
"  'Equally  delightful!    I'd  like  to  meet 
him,  too/  he  says. 

1  'He's  in  Loueyville/  I  says. 
"  'Regrettable/  he  says.     'What's  the 
name  of  his  horse?' 
"  'Rainbow/  I  says. 


72  BLISTER  JONES 

"  'And  I  thought  this  was  to  be  a  dull 
day,'  he  says.  'Jump  in  here  and  take  a 
ride.  I  don't  know  that  I  care  to  go 
rainbow-chasing  assisted  by  Blisters,  and 
Peewees — but  nefarious  undertakings 
have  always  appealed  to  me,  and  I  desire 
to  cultivate  your  acquaintance.' 

"We  goes  fur  a  long  ride  in  the  battle- 
ship. He  don't  say  much — just  asks 
questions  'n'  listens  to  my  guff.  At 
last  I  opens  up  on  the  Rainbow  deal,  'n' 
I  tries  all  I  know  to  get  him  goin' — I  sure 
slips  him  some  warm  conversation. 

'You  heard  what  Brown  said  of 
Macbeth!'  he  says.  'Why  are  you  so 
certain  this  Rainbow  can  beat  him  in  a 
steeplechase?' 

"'Why,  listen,  man!'  I  says.  'This 
Rainbow  is  the  best  ever.  He  can  beat 
any  brush-topper  now  racin'  if  the  hand- 
icapper  don't  overload  him.  He's  been 
coppin'  where  they  race  your  eyeballs 
off.  He's  been  makin'  good  against  the 


WANTED— A  RAINBOW        73 

real  thing.  He's  a  thoroughbred!  If  he 
turns  in  one  of  these  here  parlor  races 
fur  gents,  with  a  bunch  of  hunters, 
they  won't  know  which  way  he  went!' 

'The  runners  I  have  seen  are  all 
neck  and  legs.  They  don't  look  like 
hunters  at  all,'  he  says. 

'You're  thinkin'  about  these  here 
flat-shouldered  sprinters,'  I  says.  'This 
Rainbow  is  a  brush-topper.  He's  got  a 
pair  of  shoulders  on  him  'n'  he's  the 
jumpin'est  thoroughbred  ever  I  saw. 
Course  he's  rangier  'n  most  huntin'-bred 
hosses,  but  with  a  curb  to  put  some  bow 
in  his  neck,  he'll  pass  fur  a  hunter  any- 
where !' 

"  'There  is  one  sad  thing  I  haven't 
told  you,'  he  says.  'I  must  ride  the  horse 
myself.' 

*'  *  What's  sad  about  that?'  I  says. 
'You  ain't  much  over  a  hundred  'n'  forty, 
at  a  guess.' 

"  'The  trouble  is  not  with  my  weight— 


74  BLISTER  JONES 

it's  my  disposition,'  he  says.  'I  have  not 
ridden  for  ten  years.  In  fact  I  never 
rode  much.  To  tell  you  the  truth — I'm 
afraid  of  a  horse.' 

"Say — I'd  liked  that  young  chap  fine 
till  then!  I  think  he's  handin'  me  a 
josh  at  first. 

*  You're   kiddin'   me,    ain't   you?'   I 
says. 

'  'No,'  he  says.  'I'm  not  kidding 
you.  I've  fought  my  fear  of  horses 
since  I  was  old  enough  to  think.  Lately 
it  has  become  necessary  for  me  to  ride, 
and  I'm  going  to  do  it — if  it  kills  me!' 

"We  were  back  to  my  joint  by  this 
time  'n'  he  looks  at  me  'n'  laughs. 

"  'Cheer  up !'  he  says.  'I'll  think  over 
what  you  told  me  and  let  you  know.  I 
go  over  to  Philadelphia  to-morrow  to 
race  in  a  "buzz- wagon,"  as  you  call  it. 
I  don't  want  you  to  think  me  entirely 
chicken-hearted — and  I'll  take  you  with 
me,  if  Brown  can  spare  you.' 


WANTED— A  RAINBOW        75 

"The  next  day  he  shows  up  in  the 
battle-ship. 

'  'Blister,'  he  says,  fl  don't  know  just 
how  far  I'll  be  willing  to  go  in  the  affair, 
but  if  you  can  get  Rainbow,  I'll  buy 
him.' 

:  'Now  you've  said  somethin','  I  says. 
'Head  fur  the  nearest  telegraph  office 
'n'  I'll  wire  Peewee.' 

"  'They're  likely  to  ask  a  stiff  price  fur 
this  hoss,'  I  says  when  we  gets  to  the 
telegraph  office. 

:  'Buy  him,'  he  says. 

"  'Do  you  mean  the  sky's  the  limit?9 
I  says,  'n'  he  nods. 

"We  cross  on  the  ferry  after  sendin* 
the  wire.  He  has  the  battle-ship  under 
wraps  till  we  hit  the  open  country,  'n' 
then  he  lets  her  step.  We  gets  to  goin* 
faster  'n'  faster.  I  can't  see,  'n'  I  think 
my  eyebrows  have  blowed  off.  I'm  so 
scared  I  feel  like  my  stumick  has  crawled 
up  in  my  chest,  but  I  hopes  this  is  the 


76  BLISTER  JONES 

limit,  V  I  grits  my  teeth  to  keep  from 
yelpin'.  Just  then  we  hits  a  long  straight 
road,  'n'  what  we'd  been  doin'  before 
seemed  like  backin'  up.  I  can't  breathe 
'n'  I  can't  stand  no  more  of  it. 

"  'Holy  cats!'    I  yells.   'Cut  it!' 

"  'What's  the  matter?'  he  says,  when 
he's  slowed  down. 

"  'Holy  cats!'  I  says  again.  'Is  that 
what  racin'  in  these  things  is  like?' 

"  'Oh,  no,'  he  says.  'My  mechanic 
took  my  racing  car  over  yesterday.  This 
is  only  a  roadster.' 

"'Only  a— what?'   I   says. 
'  'Only   a   roadster — a   pleasure   car,' 
he  says. 

'  'Oh — a  'pleasure  car,'  I  says.     'It's 
lucky  you   told  me.' 

'  'It's   all   in   getting   accustomed   to 
it,'  he  says. 

"I  spends  the  night  at  a  hotel  in 
Philadelphia  with  a  guy  named  Ben, 
who's  the  mechanic,  'n'  the  next  mawnin' 


WANTED— A  RAINBOW        77 

I  sees  the  race.  Say!  Prize-fightin',  or 
war,  or  any  of  them  little  games  is  like 
button-button  to  this  automobile  racin'! 
They  kills  two  guys  that  day  'n'  why 
they  ain't  all  killed  is  by  me.  The 
young  chap  finishes  second  to  some 
Eyetalian — but  that  Dago  sure  knowed 
he'd  been  in  a  race. 

"  *  'N'  he's  the  guy  that's  afraid  of  a 
hoss!'  I  says  to  myself.  'Now,  wouldn't 
that  scald  you?' 

"When  he  leaves  me  at  my  joint  in 
New  York  the  young  chap  writes  on  a 
card  'n'  hands  it  to  me. 

1  'Here's  my  name  and  present  ad- 
dress,' he  says.  'Let  me  know  when  you 
hear  from  our  friend  Pee  wee.' 

"Printed  on  the  card  is  'Mr.  William 
Dumont  Van  Voast,'  'n'  in  pencil,  'Union 
Club,  New  York  City.' 

"The  next  day  I  gets  a  wire  from  Pee- 
wee  in  answer  to  mine. 

"  'Sound  as  a  dollar.     Eighteen   hun- 


78  BLISTER  JONES 

dred  bones  buys  him.     P.  W.  Simpson,' 
it  says. 

"I  phones  Mr.  Van,  'n'  he  says  to  go 
to  it — so  I  wires  Peewee. 

'  'Check  on  delivery  if  sound.  You 
know  me.  Ship  with  swipe  first  ex- 
press. Blister  Jones.' 

"In  two  days  Duckfoot  Johnson  leads 
ole  Rainbow  into  the  joint,  'n'  I  tells 
Brown  it's  a  hoss  fur  Mr.  Van.  I  looks 
him  over  good  'n'  he's  O.  K.  I  gets  Mr. 
Van  on  the  phone  'n'  he  comes  up  'n' 
writes  a  check  fur  eighteen  hundred, 
payable  to  Peewee.  He  gives  this  to 
Duckfoot,  slips  him  twenty-five  bucks 
fur  hisself,  'n'  hands  him  the  fare  back 
to  Loueyville  besides. 

'What  next?'  says  Mr.  Van  to  me. 
'Do  we  need  a  burglar's  kit,  and  some 
nitroglycerin,  or  does  that  class  of  crime 
come  later?' 

'We  want  a  vet.  right  now,'  I  says. 
'This  bird  has  got  to  lose  some  tail 
feathers.' 


WANTED— A  RAINBOW        79 

'Well,  you  are  the  chief  buccaneer!* 
says  Mr.  Van.  Til  serve  as  one  of  the 
pirate  crew  at  present.  When  you  have 
the  good  ship  Rainbow  shortened  at  the 
stern  and  ready  to  carry  the  jolly  Roger 
over  the  high  seas — I  should  say,  fences 
— let  me  know.  In  the  meantime,'  he 
says,  slippin'  me  five  twenties,  'here  are 
some  pieces-of-eight  with  which  to  buy 
cutlasses,  hand  grenades  and  other  things 
we  may  need/ 

"I  has  the  vet.  dock  Rainbow's  tail, 
'n'  as  soon  as  it  heals  I  lets  Mr.  Van 
know.  He  tells  me  to  bring  the  hoss  to 
Morrisville,  New  Jersey,  on  the  three 
o'clock  train  next  day. 

"WThen  I  unloads  from  the  express  car 
at  Morrisville,  there's  Mr.  Van  and  a 
shoffer  in  the  battle-ship. 

'  'Just  follow  along  behind,  Blister!' 
says  Mr.  Van,  'n'  drives  off  slow  down 
the  street. 

"WTe  go  through  town  'n'  out  to  a  big 
white  house,  with  pillars  down  the  front. 


80  BLISTER  JONES 

Mr.  Van  stops  the  battle-ship  at  the  gates. 

"  'Take  the  car  to  the  Williamson 
place — Mr.  Williamson  understands,'  he 
says  to  the  shofe. 

"I  wonders  why  he  stops  out  here — 
it's  a  quarter  of  a  mile  to  the  house. 
When  we  gets  to  the  house  there's  an 
old  gent,  with  gray  hair,  settin'  on  the 
porch.  He  gets  up  when  he  sees  us,  'n' 
limps  down  the  steps  with  a  cane. 

'  'Don't  disturb  yourself,  Governor!' 
says  Mr.  Van.  'Anybody  here?' 

'  'No,  I'm  alone,'  says  the  old  gent. 
'Your  sister  is  with  the  Dandridges. 
Your  man  came  this  morning,  so  I  was 
expecting  you.'  Then  he  looks  at  Rain- 
bow. 'What's  that?'  he  says. 

'  'A  horse  I've  bought,'  says  Mr.  Van. 
'I'm  thinking  of  going  in  for  hunting.' 

'  'Oh!  She's  brought  you  to  it,  has 
she?'  says  the  old  gent.  '/  never  could. 
Why  do  you  bring  the  horse  here?' 

"Mr.  Van  flushes  up. 


WANTED— A  RAINBOW        81 

'You  know  what  a  duffer  I  am  on  a 
horse,  Governor,'  he  says.  'Well,  I  want 
to  try  for  the  Melford  Cup.  I'd  like  to 
build  a  course  on  the  place,  and  school 
myself  under  your  direction.' 

"  'Ah,  ha!'  says  the  old  gent.     'And 

then  the  conquering  hero  will  descend  on 

Melford,  to  capture  the  place  in  general, 

and  one  of  its  fair  daughters  in  particular !' 

c  'Something  like  that,'  says  Mr.  Van. 

"  'I'll  be  glad  to  help  you  all  I  can,' 
says  the  old  gent,  'just  so  long  as  you 
don't  bring  one  of  those  stinking  things 
you  usually  inhabit  on  these  premises!' 

"  'It's  a  bargain.  I've  already  sent 
the  one  I  came  in  to  Ralph  Williamson.' 
says  Mr.  Van,  'n'  we  takes  Rainbow  to 
the  stables. 

"I  liked  Mr.  Van's  old  man  right  away, 
'n'  when  he  finds  out  I  knows  as  much 
about  a  hoss  as  he  does,  he  treats  me  like 
a  brother. 

"He  gets  busy  quick,  'n'  has  the  men 


82  BLISTER  JONES 

fix  up  a  mile  course  on  the  place  with 
eight  fences  in  it — some  of  'em  fierce. 

"  'Twice  around,  and  you  have  the 
Melford  course  to  a  dot/  he  says.  'Now, 
young  man/  he  says  to  me,  'you  get  the 
horse  ready  and  I'll  go  to  work  on  the 
rider.'  'N'  believe  me,  he  does  it. 

"His  bum  leg  won't  let  him  ride  no 
more,  but  he  puts  Mr.  Van  on  a  good 
steady  jumper,  'n'  drives  besides  the 
course  in  a  cart,  tellin'  him  what  to  do. 
He  keeps  Mr.  Van  goin'  till  I  think  he'll 
put  him  out  of  business — 'n'  say! — but 
he  cusses  wicked  when  things  don't  go 
to  suit  him! 

'  'Stick  your  knees  in  and  keep  your 
backbone  limber!  Hold  his  head  up  now 
at  this  jump — dont  drag  at  his  mouth 
that  way!  Why!  damn  it  all!  .  .  . 
you  haven't  as  good  hands  as  a  cab- 
driver/  is  the  kind  of  stuff  he  keeps  yellin' 
at  poor  Mr.  Van. 

"I'm  workin'  Rainbow  each  day,  'n' 


WANTED— A  RAINBOW        83 

in  three  weeks  I  take  him  twice  around 
the  course  at  a  good  clip. 

'The    hoss'll    do   in   another  week,' 
I  says  to  the  old  gent. 

'  'I'll  be  ready  fur  you,'  he  says,  shut- 
tin'  his  mouth,  'n'  that  was  the  worst 
week  of  all  for  Mr.  Van.  But  he  improved 
wonderful,  'n'  one  mawnin'  he  takes 
Rainbow  over  the  course  at  speed. 

"  'Not  half  bad!'  says  the  old  gent 
when  they  come  back.  'He's  not  up  to 
his  horse  yet,'  he  says  to  me.  'But  be- 
tween 'em  they'll  worry  that  Melford 
crowd  some,  or  I  miss  my  guess!' 

"A  day  or  so  after  that  we  starts  for 
Melford.  The  old  gent  says  good-by 
to  me,  'n'  then  he  sticks  out  his  mitt  at 
Mr.  Van. 

"  'God  bless  you,  boy!'  he  says.  'I 
wish  you  luck  both  in  the  race  and — else- 
where.' 

"Say,  this  Melford  is  the  horsiest  burg 
ever  I  saw!  They  don't  do  nothin'  but 


84  BLISTER  JONES 

ride  'em  V  drive  'em  'n'  chew  the  rag 
about  'em — men  'n*  women  the  same. 
Even  the  kids  has  toppy  little  ponies  and 
has  hoss  shows  fur  their  stuff. 

"They  has  what  they  call  a  Hunt  Club, 
'n'  everybody  hangs  out  there.  This 
club  gives  the  cup  Mr.  Van  wants  to 
win.  The  race  fur  it  is  pulled  off  once  a 
year,  'n'  only  club  members  can  enter. 

"The  Ferguson  guy  has  won  the  race 
twice  with  the  Macbeth  hoss  'n'  if  he 
wins  it  again  he  keeps  the  cup.  The  race 
is  due  in  two  weeks,  but  there  ain't 
much  talk  about  it — everybody  knows 
Ferguson'll  win  sure. 

"This  Ferguson  has  all  the  kale  in  the 
world.  He  lives  in  a  house  so  big  it  looks 
like  the  Waldorf.  But  from  what  I 
hear,  the  bloods  ain't  so  awful  strong 
fur  him — except  his  ridin',  they  all  take 
their  hats  off  to  that. 

"There's  a  girl  named  Livingston  's  the 
best  rider  among  the  dames,  'n',  believe 


WANTED— A  RAINBOW       85 

me,  she's  a  swell  doll — she's  the  niftiest 
filly  I  ever  gets  my  lamps  on — she's  all 
to  the  peaches  'n'  cream. 

"It  don't  take  me  long  to  see  that  Mr. 
Van  is  nutty,  right,  about  this  one,  but  it 
looks  like  Ferguson  has  the  bulge  on 
him,  'cause  her  'n'  Ferguson  is  always 
out  in  front  when  they  chase  the  hounds, 
'n'  they  ride  together  a  lot.  We're  at 
Mr.  Van's  brother's  place,  'n'  when  we 
first  get  there  Mr.  Van  puts  me  wise. 

'  'Blister,'  he  says,  cy°u  must  now 
assume  the  disguise  of  a  groom.  While 
you  and  I  know  we  are  partners  in  crime, 
custom  requires  an  outward  change  in 
our  heretofore  delightful  relationship- 
keep  your  eyes  open  and  act  accordingly.' 

"I'm  dead  hep  to  what  he  means,  'n' 
when  I'm  rigged  up  like  all  the  rest  of 
the  swipes  around  there,  I  touches  my 
hat  to  him  whenever  he  tells  me  any  thin'. 

"Everybody  joshes  Mr.  Van  about  his 
ridin',  but  they  get  over  that  sudden — 


86  BLISTER  JONES 

the  first  time  he  chases  hounds  with  'em 
ole  Rainbow  'n'  him  stays  right  at  the 
head  of  the  procession.  I'm  waitin'  at 
the  club  to  take  the  boss  home  after  the 
run.  When  Mr.  Van  is  turnin'  him  over 
to  me  Miss  Livingston  comes  up. 

'  'I'm  so  proud  of  you!'  she  says  to 
him.  'It  was  splendid  ...  I  told 
you  you  could  do  anything  you  tried!' 

'  'Rainbow's  the  chap  who  deserves 
your  approval,'  says  Mr.  Van,  pointin' 
to  the  hoss. 

'  'Indeed,  he  does — the  old  precious!' 
she  says,  'n'  rubs  her  face  against  Rain- 
bow's nose.  Just  then  Ferguson  rides 
up  with  a  English  gink  who's  a  friend  of 
Mr.  Van's,  'n'  the  dame  beats  it  into  the 
club-house.  This  Englishman  is  a  lord 
or  a  duke  or  somethin',  'n'  he's  visitin' 
Mr.  Van's  brother.  Ferguson  ain't  on 
Macbeth.  He's  rode  a  bay  mare  that 
day,  'n'  Rainbow  has  outrun  'n'  out- 
jumped  her. 


WANTED— A  RAINBOW       87 

'That's  quite  a  horse  you  have  there, 
Van/  Ferguson  says.  'A  bit  leggy — isn't 
he?' 

'  'Perhaps  he  is,'  says  Mr.  Van.  'But 
I  like  something  that  can  get  over  the 
country/ 

'  'Going  to  enter  him  for  the  cup?' 
says  Ferguson. 

'  'I  don't  know  yet,'  says  Mr.  Van, 
careless.  'I  must  see  the  committee,  and 
tell  them  his  antecedents — this  horse 
rather  outclasses  most  hunters.' 

'  'He  doesn't  outclass  mine,  over  the 
cup  course,  for  five  thousand!'  says 
Ferguson,  gettin'  red. 

"  'Done!'  says  Mr.  Van,  quiet-like. 
'If  the  committee  says  I'm  eligible /we '11 
settle  it  in  the  cup  race.  If  not,  we  can 
run  a  match.' 

1  'Entirely  satisfactory,'  says  Fergu- 
son, 'n'  starts  to  go.  But  he  comes  back, 
V  looks  at  Mr.  Van  wicked.  'By  the 
way,'  he  says,  'money  doesn't  interest 


88  BLISTER  JONES 

either  of  us  at  present.  Suppose  we  raise 
the  stake  this  way — the  loser  will  take  a 
trip  abroad,  for  a  year,  and  in  the  mean- 
time we  both  agree  to  let  matters  rest — 
in  a  certain  quarter.' 

"  'Done!'  says  Mr.  Van  again.  He 
looks  at  the  other  guy  colder  'n  ice 
when  he  says  it. 

"Ferguson  nods  to  him  'n'  rides  off. 

"The  English  gink  has  heard  the  bet, 
'n'  when  Ferguson  beats  it  he  shakes  his 
head. 

'  'Aw,  old  chap !'  he  says.  'That's  a 
bit  raw — don't  you  think?  I'm  sorry 
you  let  him  draw  you.  It's  a  beastly 
mess.' 

'  'I'm  not  afraid  of  him  and  his  horse !' 
says  Mr.  Van.  But  I  can  see  he  ain't 
feelin'  joyous. 

'  'Damn  him  and  his  hawss — and  you 
too!'  says  the  English  gink.  'Aw,  it's 
the  young  girl  you've  dragged  into  it, 
Billy!' 


WANTED— A  RAINBOW       89 


'  'It's  a  confidential  matter,  and  no 
names  were  mentioned/  says  Mr.  Van. 
1  'Don't  quibble,  old  chap!'  says  the 
English  gink.  'The  name's  nothing. 
And  as  for  its  being  confidential — Fer- 
guson is  sure  to  tell  that — aw — French 
puppy  he's  so  thick  with,  and  the  vis- 
cawnt'll  be — aw — tea-tabling  it  about  by 
five  o'clock!' 

'You're  right,  of  course,'  says  Mr. 
Van,  slow.  'It  was  a  low  thing  to  do — a 
cad's  trick.  No  wonder  you  English  are 
so  rotten  superior.  You  don't  need  brains 
— the  right  thing's  bred  into  your  bones. 
Your  tempers  never  show  you  up.  We 
revert  to  the  gutter  at  the  pinch.' 

"  'Oh,  I  say!  That's  bally  nonsense!' 
says  the  English  gink.  'I  would  have 
done  the  same  thing.' 

"  'Not  unless  the  fifteen  hundred  years 
it's  taken  to  make  you  were  wiped  off 
the  slate,'  says  Mr.  Van.  'However,  I'll 
have  to  see  it  through  now.' 


90 

"The  guys  that  run  the  club  say  Rain- 
bow can  start  in  the  cup  race.  Mr.  Van 
tells  me,  'n'  the  next  week  I  watch  him 
while  he  sends  the  hoss  over  the  course. 
We're  comin'  up  towards  the  club-house, 
after  the  work-out,  'n'  we  run  into  Miss 
Livingston.  She  hands  Mr.  Van  the 
icy  stare  'n'  he  starts  to  say  somethin', 
but  she  breaks  in. 

'  *I   wonder  you   care   to   waste   any 
words  on  a  mere  racing  wager,'  she  says. 
'  'Please  let  me  try  to  explain     .     .     / 
says  Mr.  Van. 

'There  can  be  no  explanation.  What 
you  did  was  the  act  of  a  boor — and  a 
fool,'  says  the  dame,  'n'  walks  on  by. 

"I  think  over  what  she  says.  'She's 
more  sore  cause  she  thinks  he'll  lose  than 
any  thin'  else,'  I  says  to  myself.  'He 
ain't  in  so  bad,  after  all.'  But  Mr.  Van 
don't  tumble.  He's  awful  glum  from 
then  on. 

"There's  a  fierce  mob  of  swells  at  the 


WANTED— A  RAINBOW        91 

course  the  day  of  the  race,  classy  rigs  as 
far  as  you  can  see.  The  last  thing  I  says 
to  Mr.  Van  is: 

'You've  got  the  step  of  them  any 
place  in  the  route,  but  you're  on  a 
thoroughbred,  'n'  he'll  run  hisself  into 
the  ground  if  you  let  him.  You  don't 
know  how  to  rate  him  right — so  stay 
close  to  the  Macbeth  hoss  till  you  come 
to  the  last  fence,  then  turn  Rainbow 
loose,  'n'  he'll  make  his  stretch-run 
alone.5 

"There's  six  entries,  but  the  race  is 
between  Rainbow  and  Macbeth  from  the 
get-away.  Macbeth  is  a  black  hoss,  'n' 
I  never  believed  till  then  a  hunter  could 
romp  that  fast.  He  was  three  len'ths 
ahead  of  the  field  at  the  first  fence,  with 
Rainbow  right  at  his  necktie.  They 
gets  so  far  ahead,  nobody  sees  the  other 
starters  from  the  second  fence  on.  Mr. 
Van  rides  just  like  I  tells  him,  'n'  lets 
the  black  hoss  make  the  pace.  Man!— 


92  BLISTER  JONES 

that  hunter  did  run!  Towards  the  end 
both  hosses  begin  to  tire,  but  the  clip 
was  easier  fur  the  thoroughbred,  'n'  I 
see  Rainbow's  got  the  most  left. 

"Before  they  come  to  the  last  fence 
Mr.  Van  turns  his  hoss  loose  like  I  tells 
him,  'n'  he  starts  to  come  away  from 
Macbeth.  My!  but  those  swells  did 
holler!  They  never  thought  Rainbow 
has  a  chance.  At  the  last  fence  he's  a 
len'th  in  front,  'n'  right  there  it  happens 
Mr.  Van  don't  take  hold  of  him  enough 
to  keep  his  head  up,  'n'  he  blunders  at 
the  fence  'n'  comes  down  hard  on  his 
knees.  Mr.  Van  slides  clear  to  the  hoss's 
ears,  'n'  the  crowd  gives  a  groan  as 
Macbeth  comes  over  'n'  goes  by. 

'  'He's  gone!'  I  says  to  myself,  'n'  I 
can't  believe  it  when  he  gets  back  in  the 
saddle  somehow  'n'  starts  to  ride.  But 
the  black  hoss  has  a  good  six  len'ths  'n' 
now  two  hundred  yards  to  go. 

'He'll   never   reach     .     .     .'I   says 


''He  comes  down  hard   on  his  knees' 


WANTED— A  RAINBOW       93 

out  loud.     'He'll  never  reach     .     .     .' 

"Then  Rainbow  begins  his  stretch-run 
with  the  blood  comin'  out  of  his  knees, 
'n'  while  he's  a  tired  hoss,  a  gamer  one 
never  looks  through  a  bridle.  I  ain't 
knockin'  that  hunter — there  was  no  ca- 
nary in  him,  but  I  think  a  game  thorough- 
bred's the  gamest  hoss  that  lives! 

"Ole  Rainbow  is  a  straight  line  from 
his  nose  to  his  tail.  His  ears  is  flat  'n' 
his  mouth's  half  open  fur  air.  Every 
jump  he  takes  looks  thirty  feet  long  'n' 
he's  gettin'  to  the  black  hoss  fast.  I'm 
watchin'  the  distance  to  go  'n'  all  of  a 
sudden  I  furgets  where  I  am — . 

c  'He  wins  sure  as  hell!'  I  hollers. 

"  'Oh,  will  he?'  says  a  voice.  I  looks 
up  'n'  there's  Miss  Livingston  sittin'  on 
her  hoss,  her  fists  doubled  up  'n'  her  face 
whiter'n  chalk. 

"About  ten  len'ths  from  the  finish 
Rainbow  gets  to  the  black  'n'  they  look 
each  other  in  the  eye.  But  them  long 


94  BLISTER  JONES 

jumps  of  the  thoroughbred  breaks  the 
hunter's  heart,  'n'  Rainbow  comes  away, 
'n'  wins  by  a  len'th.  .  .  . 

"After  I've  cooled  Rainbow  out,  'n' 
bandaged  his  knees  at  the  club  stables, 
I  starts  fur  home  with  him. 

"I'm  just  leavin'  the  main  road,  to 
take  the  short  cut,  when  Miss  Livingston 
gallops  by,  with  a  groom  trailin'.  She 
looks  up  the  cross-road,  sees  me  'n'  the 
hoss,  'n'  reins  in.  She  says  somethin' 
to  the  groom  'n'  he  goes  on. 

"Miss  Livingston  comes  up  the  cross- 
road alone,  'n'  stops  when  she  gets  to  us. 
1  *Is  that  Rainbow?'  she  says. 

"  *Yes'm,'  I  says. 

'  'Help  me  down,  please,'  she  says. 
I  tries  to  do  it,  but  I  don't  make  a  good 
job  of  it, 

*You're   not   a   lady's   groom?'   she 
says,  smilin'. 

"  'No'm,'  I  says. 

'I   should   like   to  pat   the   winner;' 
she  says.     'May  I?' 


WANTED— A  RAINBOW        95 

'  'Go  as  far  as  you  like,'  I  says. 

'I  beg  pardon?'  she  says,  lookin'  at 
me  funny. 

'Yes'm,  you  can  pat  him,'  I  says. 
"She  takes  Rainbow  by  the  head,  'n' 
sort  of  hugs  it,  'n'  rubs  the  tips  of  her 
fingers  over  his  eyelids.    Then  she  whis- 
pers to  him,  but  I  hears  it. 

1  'Old  precious!'  she  says.  Tve  al- 
ways loved  Rainbows!  Do  you  bring  a 
fair  day,  too?' 

"Just  then  a  black  auto  sneaks  around 
the  bend  of  the  main  road,  'n'  Mr.  Van's 
drivin'  it.  He  sees  us,  stops,  'n'  comes 
up  the  side  road  to  where  we  are.  She 
don't  hear  him  till  he's  right  close. 
Then  she  backs  away  from  Rainbow. 

c  *I  thought  you  might  become  tired 
of  your  sudden  interest  in  hunting,  Mr. 
Van  Voast,'  she  says.  'And  I  should 
like  to  own  this  horse — I  was  just  look- 
ing at  him,'  she  tries  to  say  it  haughty. 
but  it  don't  seem  to  scare  him  none.  He 
looks  at  her  steady. 


96  BLISTER  JONES 

"  'If  I  give  you  a  rainbow,  will  you 
give  me  its  equivalent?'  he  says. 

"  'A  pot  of  gold?  Yes —  How  much 
will  you  take?'  she  says,  but  she  don't 
look  at  him  no  more. 

"  'A  pot  of  gold  is  at  the  end,'  he 
says.  'This  is  the  beginning,  dear.  .  .  * 
I  want  a  promise.' 

'That  would  be  a  fair  exchange, 
would  it  not?'  she  says,  'n*  looks  up  at 
him.  I  never  see  eyes  look  like  that  be- 
fore. They  puts  me  in  mind  of  when 
the  band's  playin'  as  the  hosses  go  to  the 
post  fur  the  Kentucky  Derby. 

'  'Blister,'  says  Mr.  Van,  'show  the 
horses  the  view  over  the  hill;  they'll 
enjoy  it/ 

"I'm  on  my  way  in  a  hurry,  but 
hears  her  say: 

'"Oh,   Billy,   not   here!' 

"They  don't  come  along  fur  half  an 
hour.  When  they  does,  Mr.  Van  says 
to  me: 


WANTED— A  RAINBOW       97 

"  'Lead  Rainbow  to  the  Livingston 
stables,  Blister.  He  has  a  new  owner.' 

"  'Does  you  get  a  good  price  fur  him?' 
I  says,  like  I  don't  tumble  to  nothin'. 

'  'What  a  remarkable  groom!'  says 
Miss  Livingston. 

"  'Isn't  he?'  says  Mr.  Van.  Then  he 
comes  'n'  grabs  me  by  the  mitt.  'Don't 
worry  about  the  price,  old  boy,'  he  says. 
'No  horse  ever  brought  so  much  before !'  ' 


SALVATION 

AT  THE  invitation  of  Blister  Jones 
I  had  come  from  the  city's  heat  to 
witness  the  morning  "work-outs".  For 
two  hours  horse  after  horse  had  shot  by, 
leaving  a  golden  dust-cloud  to  hang  and 
drift  and  slowly  settle. 

It  was  fairly  cool  under  the  big  tree 
by  the  track  fence,  and  the  click  of 
Blister's  stop-watch,  with  his  varied  com- 
ments on  what  those  clicks  recorded, 
drifted  out  of  my  consciousness  much  as 
had  the  dust-clouds.  Even  the  thr-rump, 
thr-rump,  thr-rump  of  flying  hoofs — 
crescendo,  fortissimo,  diminuendo — final- 
ly became  meaningless. 

"Here's  one  bred  to  suit  you!"  rasped 
a  nasal  voice,  and  I  sat  up,  half  awake, 
to  observe  a  tall  man  lead  a  thorough- 
bred on  to  the,  track  and  dexterously 
98 


SALVATION  99 


"throw"   a    boy    into    the    tiny   saddle. 

"Why?"  Blister  questioned. 

"He's  by  Salvation,"  explained  the 
tall  man.  "Likely-lookin'  colt,  ain't  he? 
Think  he  favors  the  old  hoss  any?" 

'  'Bout  the  head  he  does,"  Blister 
answered.  "He  won't  girt  as  big  as  the 
old  hoss  did  at  the  same  age." 

"Well,  if  he's  half  as  good  as  his  daddy 
he's  some  hoss  at  that,"  the  tall  man 
stated,  as  he  started  up  the  track,  watch 
in  hand. 

Blister  followed  the  colt  with  his  eyes. 

"Ever  hear  of  Salvation?"  he  finally 
asked. 

"Oh,  yes,"  I  replied. 

"Well,  I  brings  out  Salvation  as  a 
three-year-old,  'n'  what  happens  is  quite 
a  bunch  of  chatter — want  to  hear  it?" 

"You  know  it,"  I  said,  dropping  into 
Blister's  vernacular. 

"That's  pretty  good  for  you,"  he  said, 
grinning  at  my  slang.  "Well,  to  begin 


100  BLISTER  JONES 

with,  I'm  in  Loueyville.  It's  in  the  fall, 
'n'  I'm  just  back  from  Sheepshead.  One 
way  'n'  another  I've  had  a  good  year. 
I'm  down  on  two  or  three  live  ones  when 
the  odds  are  right,  'n'  I've  grabbed  off  a 
bundle  I  ain't  ashamed  to  flash  in  any 
kind  of  company. 

"My  string's  been  shipped  South,  'n' 
I  thinks  I'll  knock  around  Kentucky  fur 
a  couple  of  weeks,  'n'  see  if  I  can't  pick 
up  some  hosses  to  train. 

"One  mawnin'  I'm  in  the  Gait  House, 
lookin'  fur  a  hossman  that's  stoppin' 
there,  'n'  I  see  Peewee  Simpson  settin' 
in  the  lobby  like  he'd  just  bought  the 
hotel. 

'Who  left  the  door  open?'  I  says  to 
him. 

'  'It's  still  open,  I  see,'  says  Peewee, 
lookin'  at  me. 

"We  exchanges  a  few  more  remarks,  'n' 
then  Peewee  tells  me  he's  come  to  Louey- 
ville to  buy  some  yearlin's  fur  ole  man 
Harris. 


SALVATION  101 

"  'There's  a  dispersal  sale  to-morrow  at 
the  Goodloe  farm,'  says  Peewee.  '  'N'  I 
hear  there's  some  real  nice  stuff  going 
under  the  hammer.  General  Goodloe 
croaked  this  spring.  They  cleaned  him 
in  a  cotton  deal  last  year  'n'  now  their 
goin'  to  sell  the  whole  works — studs, 
brood  mares,  colts — everything;  plows, 
too — you  want  a  plow?  All  you  need  is 
a  plow  'n'  a  mule  to  put  you  where  you 
belong.' 

"  'Where's  this  farm  at?'  I  says. 
'  'Over  in  Franklin  County,'  says  Pee- 
wee.   'I'm  goin'  over — want  to  go  'long?' 
'You're  on,'  I  says.     Tm  not  partic- 
ular who  travels  with  me  any  more.' 

"We  gets  off  the  train  next  mawnin* 
at  a  little  burg  called  Goodloe,  'n'  there's 
three  or  four  niggers  with  three  or  four 
ratty-lookin'  ole  rigs  to  drive  hossmen  out 
to  the  sale.  It's  a  fierce  drive,  'n'  the 
springs  is  busted  on  our  rig.  I  thinks 
we'll  never  get  there,  'n'  I  begins  to  cuss 
Peewee  fur  bringin'  me. 


102  BLISTER  JONES 

"  'What  you  got  to  kick  at?'  says 
Pee  wee.  'Ain't  you  gettin'  a  free  ride? 
Cheer  up — think  of  all  the  nice  plows 
you're  goin'  to  see.' 

"  'You  take  them  plows  to  hell  'n' 
make  furrows  in  the  cinders  with  'em,' 
I  says,  wonderin'  if  I  can  get  a  train  back 
to  Loueyville  anyways  soon. 

"But  when  we  gets  to  the  farm  I'm 
glad  I  come.  Man,  that  was  some  farm! 
Miles  of  level  blue-grass  pasture,  with 
white  fences  cuttin'  it  up  into  squares, 
barns  'n'  paddocks  'n'  sheds,  all  painted 
white,  just  scattered  around  by  the 
dozen.  There's  a  track  to  work  hosses 
on,  too,  but  it's  pretty  much  growed  up 
with  weeds.  The  main  house  is  back  in 
some  big  trees.  It's  brick  'n'  has  two 
porches,  one  on  top  of  the  other,  all  the 
way  around  it. 

"The  sale  is  just  startin'  when  we  get 
there.  The  auctioneer  is  in  the  judge's 
stand  at  the  track  'n'  the  hosses  is  showed 
in  the  stretch. 


SALVATION  103 

"The  first  thing  to  sell  is  brood  mares, 
'n'  they're  as  good  a  lot  as  I  ever  looks 
over.  I  loses  Pee  wee  in  the  crowd,  'n' 
climbs  on  to  a  shed  roof  to  see  better. 

"Pretty  soon  here  comes  a  real  ole 
nigger  leadin'  a  mare  that  looks  to  be 
about  as  old  as  the  nigger.  At  that  she 
showed  class.  Her  head's  still  fine,  'n' 
her  legs  ain't  got  so  much  as  a  pimple 
on  'em. 

:  'Number  eleven  in  your  catalogues, 
gentlemen!'  says  the  auctioneer.  'Mary 
Goodloe  by  Victory,  first  dam  Dainty 
Maid  by — what's  the  use  of  tellin'  you 
her  breedin',  you  all  know  her!  Gentle- 
men/ he  says,  'how  many  of  you  can 
say  you  ever  owned  a  Kentucky  Derby 
winner?  Well,  here's  your  chance  to 
own  one!  This  mare  won  the  derby  in — 


er — 
it 


'Eighty -three,  suh — I  saw  her  do  it,' 
says  a  man  with  a  white  mustache. 

1  'Eighty-three,    thank   you,    Colonel. 
You  have  a  fine  memory,'  says  the  auc- 


104  BLISTER  JONES 

tioneer.  'I  saw  her  do  it,  too.  Now, 
gentlemen,'  he  says,  Vhat  am  I  offered 
for  this  grand  old  mare?  She's  the  dam 
of  six  winners — three  of  'em  stake  hosses. 
Kindly  start  the  bidding.' 

'Twenty  dollahs!'  says  the  ole  nigger 
who  has  hold  of  the  mare. 
"  'Fifty!'  says  some  one  else. 

'  'Hole  on  dah,'  sings  out  the  ole 
nigger.  Tse  just  'bliged  to  tell  you  folks 
I'se  pu'chasin'  dis  hyar  mare  fo'  Miss 
Sally  Goodloe!' 

"The  auctioneer  looks  at  the  guy  who 
bids  fifty. 

'  'I  withdraw  that  bid,'  says  the  guy. 

c  'Sold  to  you  for  twenty  dollars, 
Uncle  Jake,'  says  the  auctioneer.  'Bring 
on  number  twelve!' 

'  'Hyah's  yo'  twenty  dollahs,'  says  the 
ole  nigger,  fishin'  out  a  roll  of  raggedy 
bills  and  passin'  'em  up  to  the  stand. 

'Thank  you,  Uncle  Jake.  Come  to 
the  clerk  for  your  bill  of  sale  this  evenin',' 
says  the  auctioneer. 


SALVATION  105 

"I  watches  the  sale  a  while  longer,  'n' 
then  mooches  into  the  big  barn  where  the 
yearlin's  'n'  two-year-olds  is  waitin'  to 
be  sold.  They're  a  nice  lot  of  colts,  but 
I  ain't  interested  in  this  young  stuff — 
colts  is  too  much  of  a  gamble  fur  me. 
Only  about  one  in  fifty'll  make  good. 
Somebody  else  can  spend  their  money  on 
'em  at  that  kind  of  odds. 

"I  goes  out  of  the  colt  barn  'n'  begins 
to  ramble  around,  lampin'  things  in 
general.  I  comes  to  a  shed  full  of  plows, 
'n'  I  has  to  laugh  when  I  sees  'em.  I'm 
standin'  there  with  a  grin  on  my  face 
when  a  nigger  comes  'round  the  shed  'n' 
sees  me  lookin'  at  them  plows. 

1  Tine  plows,  sah,  an'   vehy  cheap,' 
he  says. 

"  'Do  I  look  like  I  needs  a  plow?'  I 
says  to  him. 

"  'No,  sah,'  says  the  nigger,  lookin' 
me  over.  'I  cyant  rightly  say  you  favohs 
plowin',  but  howkum  you  ain'  tendin' 
de  sale?' 


106  BLISTER  JONES 

"  'I  don't  see  nothin'  over  there  that 
suits  me/  I  says. 

"The  nigger  is  sore  in  a  minute. 
"  'You    is    suttanly    hahd    to    please, 
white  man,'  he  says.    'Ain'  no  finah  colts 
in  Kaintucky  dan  dem.' 

'That  may  be  so,  but  how  about 
Tennessee?'  I  says,  just  to  get  him  goin'. 
"Tennessee!  Tennessee!'  he  says. 
'What  you  talkin'  'bout?  Why,  we  does 
de  fahm  wuck  wid  likelier  colts  dan  dey 
sends  to  de  races.' 

'  'I've  seed  some  nifty  babies  down 
there,'  I  says. 

'  Tiook-a-hyar,   man!'   he   says,    'you 
want  to  see  a  colt  what  am  a  colt?' 
"  'How  far?'  I  says. 
1  'No  ways  at  all,  jus'  over  yondah,' 
says  the  nigger. 

:  'Lead  me  to  it,'  I  say  to  him,  'n'  he 
takes  me  over  to  a  long  lane  with  pad- 
docks down  each  side  of  it.  All  the  pad- 
docks is  empty  but  two.  In  the  first  one 


SALVATION  107 

is  the  ole  mare,  Mary  Goodloe;  'n'  next 
to  her  is  a  slashin'  big  chestnut  colt. 

"  'Cast  yo'  eyes  on  dat  one!'  says  the 
nigger. 

"I  don't  say  nothin'  fur  five  minutes. 
I  just  looks  at  that  colt.  I  never  sees  one 
like  him  before,  nor  since.  There's  some 
dead  leaves  blowin'  around  the  paddock 
'n'  he's  jumpin'  on  'em  with  his  front 
feet  like  a  setter  pup  playin'.  Two  jumps 
'n'  he's  clear  across  the  paddock!  His 
shoulders  'n'  quarters  'n'  legs  is  made  to 
order.  His  head  'n'  throat-latch  is  clean 
as  a  razor,  'n'  he's  the  proudest  thing 
that  ever  stood  on  four  legs.  He  looks 
to  be  comin'  three,  but  he's  muscled  liko 
a  five-year-old. 

"  'How  'bout  him,  boss?'  says  the 
nigger  after  a  while. 

"  'Well,'  I  says,  'they  broke  the  mold 
when  they  made  that  one!' 

:  'Dar's   de   mold,'   he   says,   pointin' 
to  the   ole  mare  in  the  next  paddock. 


108  BLISTER  JONES 

'She's  his  mammy.  Dat's  Mahey  Good- 
loe,  named  fo'  ole  Miss  Goodloe  what's 
dade.  Dat  mare  win  de  derby.  Dis 
hyar  colt's  by  impo'ted  Calabash.' 

"  'When  does  this  colt  sell?'  I  asks 
him. 

"  'He  ain'  fo'  sale,'  says  the  nigger. 
'De  estate  doan  own  him.  De  General 
done  gib  him  to  Miss  Sally  when  de  colt's 
bohn.' 

'Where's  she  at  now?'  I  says  to  the 
nigger.  I  had  to  own  that  colt  if  my  roll 
could  reach  him — I  knowed  that  'fore  I'd 
looked  at  him  a  minute. 

'Up  to  de  house,  mos'  likely,5  says 
the  nigger.  'You'd  better  save  yo'  shoe 
leather,  boss.  She  ain'  gwine  to  sell  dat 
colt  no  matter  what  happens.' 

"I  beats  it  up  to  the  big  house,  but 
when  I  gets  there  I  see  nobody's  livin'  in 
it.  The  windows  has  boards  across  'em. 
I  looks  in  between  the  cracks  'n'  sees  a 
whale  of  a  room.  Hangin'  from  the  ceilin' 


SALVATION  109 

is  two  things  fur  lights  all  covered  with 
glass  dingles.  They  ain't  nothin'  else  in 
the  room  but  a  tall  mirror,  made  of  gold, 
that  goes  clear  to  the  ceilin'.  I  walks 
clean  around  the  house,  but  it's  sure 
empty,  so  I  oozes  back  to  the  barns  'n' 
collars  the  sales  clerk. 

"  'I'm  a-lookin'  fur  Miss  Goodloe,'  I 
tells  him.  *A  nigger  says  she's  at  the 
house,  but  I've  just  been  up  there  'n' 
they  ain't  even  furniture  in  it.' 

1  'No,'  says  the  clerk;  'the  furniture 
was  sold  to  a  New  York  collector  two 
weeks  ago.  Miss  Goodloe  is  livin'  in  the 
head  trainer's  house  across  the  road 
yonder.  She  won't  have  that  long,  I 
don't  reckon,  though  I  did  hear  she's 
fixin'  to  buy  it  when  the  farm  sells,  with 
some  money  ole  Mrs.  Goodloe  left  her.' 

"I  goes  over  to  the  little  house  the 
clerk  points  out,  'n'  knocks.  A  right  fat 
nigger  woman,  with  her  sleeves  rolled  up, 
comes  to  the  door. 


110  BLISTER  JONES 

"  'What  you  want?'  she  says. 

f  'I  want  to  see  Miss  Goodloe,'  I  says. 
'You  cyant  see  her.     She  ain'  seein' 
nobody,'    says    the    nigger    woman,    'n' 
starts  to  shut  the  door. 

'Wait  a  minute,  aunty,"  I  says.  'I 
got  to  see  her — it's  business,  sure-enough 
business.' 

'  'Doan  you  aunty  me!'  says  she. 
'Now,  you  take  yo'  bisniss  with  you  an' 
ramble!  Bisniss  has  done  sole  off  eve'y 
stick  an'  stone  we  got!  I  doan  want  to 
hyar  no  mo'  'bout  bisniss  long  as  I  live'- 
'n'  bang  goes  the  door. 

"I  waits  a  minute  'n'  then  knocks 
again — nothin'  doin'.  I  knocks  fur  five 
minutes  steady.  Pretty  soon  here  she 
comes,  but  this  time  she's  got  a  big  brass- 
handled  poker  with  her. 

'  'Ef  I  has  to  clout  you  ovah  de  haid 
wid  dis  pokah  you  ain'  gwine  to  transack 
no  mo'  bisniss  fo'  a  tollable  long  time!' 
she  says.  She's  mad  all  right,  'n'  she 
hollers  this  at  me  pretty  loud. 


SALVATION  111 

'  'Fore  I  can  say  anythin'  a  dame  steps 
out  in  the  hall  'n'  looks  at  me  'n'  the 
nigger  woman  'n'  the  poker. 

*  What's  the  matter,  Liza?'  she  says 
to  the  nigger  woman,  'n'  her  voice  is  good 
to  listen  at.  You  don't  care  what  she 
says,  just  so  she  keeps  a-sayin'  it.  She's 
got  on  a  white  dress  with  black  fixin's  on 
it,  'n'  she  just  suits  her  dress,  'cause  her 
hair  is  dark  'n'  her  face  is  white,  'n'  she 
has  great  big  eyes  that  put  me  in  mind 
of — I  don't  know  what!  She  ain't  very 
tall,  but  she  makes  me  feel  littler'n  her 
when  she  looks  at  me.  She's  twenty-four 
or  five,  mebby,  but  I'm  a  bum  guesser 
at  a  dame's  age. 

!  *Dis  pusson  boun'  he  gwine  to  see 
you  an'  I  boun'  he  ain',  Miss  Sally,'  says 
the  nigger  woman.  The  little  dame 
comes  out  on  the  porch. 

'I  am  Miss  Goodloe,'  she  says  to  me. 
'What  do  you  wish?' 

'I  want  to  buy  a  hoss  from  you, 
ma'am,'  I  says  to  her. 


BLISTER  JONES 

"  'The  horses  are  being  sold  across  the 
way  at  that  biggest  barn,'  she  says. 

"  'Yes'm,'  I  says,  Tve  just  come  from 
there.  I—' 

"  'Have  you  been  watching  the  sale?' 
she  says,  breakin'  in. 

"  'Yes'm — some,'  I  says. 

"  'Liza,  you  may  go  to  your  kitchen 
now,'  she  says.  'Can  you  tell  me  if  they 
have  sold  the  mare,  Mary  Goodloe,  yet?' 
she  says  to  me  when  the  nigger  woman's 
gone. 

'Yes'm,  she  was  sold,'  I  says. 

She  flinches  like  I'd  hit  her  'n'  I  see 
her  chin  begin  to  quiver,  but  she  bites 
her  lip  'n'  I  looks  off  down  the  road  to 
give  her  a  chance.  Pretty  soon  she's  back 
fur  more.  I'm  feelin'  like  a  hound. 

'  'Do  you  know  who  bought  her?' 
she  says. 

'  'A  nigger  man  they  call  Uncle  Jake 
buys  her,'  I  says. 

'Uncle  Jake!'  she  says.  'Are  you  sure? 


SALVATION  113 

Was  he  an  old  man  with  poor  eyesight?' 
"  'He  was  old  all  right,'  I  says.     'But 
I  don't  notice  about  his  eyes.     He  give 
twenty  dollars  fur  her.' 

'  'Is  that  all  she  brought?'  she  says. 
'Well,  she  brings  more,'  I  says, 
'only  the  ole  man  makes  a  speech  'n'  tells 
'em  he's  buying  her  fur  you.  Everybody 
quit  biddin'  then.'  She  stands  there  a 
minute,  her  eyes  gettin'  bigger  'n'  bigger. 
I  never  see  eyes  so  big  'n'  soft  'n'  dark. 

"  'Would  you  do  me  a  favor?'  she  says 
at  last. 

'  'Fifty  of  'em/  I  says.  She  gives  me 
a  little  smile. 

1  'One's  all  that's  necessary,  thank 
you,'  she  says.  'Will  you  find  Uncle 
Jake  for  me  and  tell  him  I  wish  to  see 
him?' 

"  'You  bet  I  will,'  I  says,  'n'  I  beats 
it  over  to  the  barns.  .  .  I  finds  Uncle 
Jake,  'n'  he's  got  weak  eyes  all  right — 
he  can't  hardly  see.  He's  got  rheuma- 


114  BLISTER  JONES 

tism,  too — he's  all  crippled  up  with  it. 
When  I  gets  back  with  him,  Miss  Good- 
loe's  still  standin'  on  the  porch. 

"  *I  want  to  find  out  who  bought  old 
Mary,  Uncle  Jake,'  she  says.  'Do  you 
know?' 

f  *I  was  jus'  fixin'  to  come  over  hyar 
an'  tell  you  de  good  news,  Miss  Sally,' 
says  Uncle  Jake.  'When  dey  puts  ole 
Mahey  up  fo'  sale,  she  look  pow'ful  ole 
an*  feeble.  De  autioneer  jes  'seeches 
'em  fo'  to  make  some  sawt  o'  bid,  but 
hit  ain'  no  use.  Dey  doan'  nobody 
want  her.  Hit  look  lak  de  auctioneer 
in  a  bad  hole — he  doan'  know  what  to 
do  zakly.  Hit's  gittin'  mighty  'bahassin' 
fo'  him,  so  I  say  to  him:  "Mr.  Auction- 
eer, I  ain'  promisin'  nothin',  but  Miss 
Sally  Goodloe  mought  be  willin'  to  keep 
dis  hyar  ole  mare  fo'  'membrance  sake." 
De  auctioneer  am  mighty  tickled,  an' he 
say,  "Uncle  Jake,  ef  Miss  Sally  will  'soom 
de  'sponsibility  ob  dis  ole  mare,  hit 


SALVATION  115 

would  'blige  me  greatly."  Dat's  how- 
kum  ole  Mahey  back  safe  in  de  paddock, 
an'  dey  am'  nobody  gwine  to  take  her 
away  fum  you,  honey!' 

'Uncle  Jake,'  says  Miss  Goodloe, 
'where  is  your  twenty  dollars  you  got  for 
that  tobacco  you  raised?' 

"  'Ain'  I  tole  you  'bout  dat,  Miss 
Sally?  Dat  mis'able  money  done  skip 
out  an'  leave  thoo  a  hole  in  ma  pocket,' 
says  Uncle  Jake,  'n'  pulls  one  of  his  pants 
pockets  inside  out.  Sure  enough,  there's 
a  big  hole  in  it. 

1  'Didn't  I  give  you  a  safety-pin  to 
pin  that  money  in  your  inside  coat 
pocket?'  says  Miss  Goodloe. 

'Yess'm,  dat's  right,'  he  says.  'But 
I'se  countin'  de  money  one  day  an'  a 
span  ob  mules  broke  loose  an'  stahts 
lickety-brindle  fo'  de  bahn,  an*  aimin' 
to  ketch  de  mules,  I  pokes  de  money  in 
de  pocket  wid  de  hole.  I  ain'  neber  see 
dat  no-'coun'  money  sence.' 


116  BLISTER  JONES 

Miss  Goodloe  looks  at  the  ole  nigger 
fur  a  minute. 

"  'Uncle  Jake  .  .  .  oh,  Uncle  Jake  .  .  .' 
she  says.  ' 'These  are  the  things  I  just 
can't  stand!'  Her  eyes  fill  up,  'n'  while 
she  bites  her  lip  agin,  it  ain't  no  use. 
Two  big  tears  roll  down  her  cheeks. 
'I'll  see  you  in  a  moment,'  she  says  to 
me,  'n'  goes  inside. 

"  'Bad  times!  Bad  times,  pow'ful  bad 
times!'  says  Uncle  Jake,  'n'  hobbles 
away  a-mutterin'  to  hisself. 

"It's  begun  to  get  under  my  skin  right. 
I'm  feelin'  queer,  'n'  I  gets  to  thinkin' 
I'd  better  beat  it.  'Don't  be  a  damn  fool !' 
I  says  to  myself.  'You  ain't  had  nothin' 
to  do  with  the  cussed  business  'n'  you 
can't  help  it  none.  If  you  don't  buy 
this  colt  somebody  else  will.'  So  I  sets 
on  the  edge  of  the  porch  'n'  waits.  It 
ain't  so  long  till  Miss  Goodloe  comes  out 
again.  I  gets  up  'n'  takes  off  my  hat. 

'What  horse  do  you  wish  to  buy?' 
she  says. 


SALVATION  117 

"  'A  big  chestnut  colt  by  Calabash, 
dam  Mary  Goodloe,'  I  says.  'They  tell 
me  you  own  him.' 

'  'Oh,  I  can't  sell  him!9  she  says,  backin' 
towards  the  door.  'No  one  has  ever 
ridden  him  but  me.' 

f  'Is  he  fast?'  I  asks  her. 
'  'Of  course,'  she  says. 
:  'Is  he  mannered?'  I  asks. 
"  'Perfectly,'  she  says. 
"  'He    ain't   never   seen   a   barrier,   I 
suppose?'  I  says. 

"  'He's  broken  to  the  barrier,'  she  says 
then. 

"  'Who  schools  him?'   I   says.     'You 
tells  me  nobody's  been  on  him  but  you — ' 
1  'I  schooled  him  at  the  barrier  with 
the  other  two-year-olds,'  she  says. 

"  'Wheel'  I  says.  'You  must  be  able 
to  ride  some.' 

J  'I'd  be  ashamed  of  myself  if  I  could- 
n't,' she  says. 

'  'Are  you  sure  you  won't  sell  him?' 
I  asks  her. 


118  BLISTER  JONES 

"  'Positive,'  she  says,  V  I  see  she 
means  it. 

"  'What  you  goin'  to  do  with  him?' 
I  says.  'Don't  you  know  it's  wicked  not 
to  give  that  colt  a  chance  to  show  what 
he  can  do?' 

'  'I  know  it  is,'  she  says.  'But  I  have 
no  money  for  training  expenses.' 

"I  studies  a  minute,  'n'  all  of  a  sudden 
it  comes  to  me.  'You  were  just  achin' 
to  help  this  little  dame  a  while  ago,' 
I  says  to  myself.  'Here's  a  chance 

be  a  sport!'     The  colt  might 

make  good,  'n'  she  could  use  a  thousand 
or  so  awful  easy. 

'  'Miss  Goodloe,'  I  says  out  loud,  'I 
might  as  well  tell  you  I'm  in  love  with 
that  colt.'  She  gives  me  a  real  sweet 
smile. 

'  'Isn't  he  a  darling?'  she  says,  her 
face  lightin'  up. 

'That  isn't  the  way  I'd  put  it',  I  says, 
'but  I  guess  we  mean  the  same.     Now, 


SALVATION  119 

I'm  a  race-boss  trainer.  You  read  these 
letters  from  people  I'm  workin'  fur,  'n' 
then  I'll  tell  you  what  I  want  to  do.'  I 
fishes  out  a  bunch  of  letters  from  my 
pocket  'n'  she  sets  down  on  the  steps  'n' 
begins  to  read  'em  solemn  as  owls. 

"  'Why  do  they  call  you  Blister?'  she 
asks,  lookin'  up  from  a  letter. 

'That's  a  nickname,'  I  says. 
'  'Oh,'  she  says,  'n'  goes  on  readin*. 
When  she  gets  through  she  hands  the 
letters  to  me.  'They  seem  to  have  a  lot 
of  confidence  in  you,  Blis —  Mr.  Jones,' 
she  says. 

"  'Stick  to  Blister,'  I  says,  «  'n'  I'll  al- 
ways come  when  I'm  called.' 

'Very  well,  Blister,'  she  says.  'Now, 
why  did  you  wish  me  to  read  those  let- 
ters?' 

"  'I  asks  you  to  read  them  letters,  be- 
cause I  got  a  hunch  that  colt's  a  winner, 
'n'  I  want  to  take  a  chance  on  him,'  I 
says.  'I  got  a  string  of  hosses  at  New 


120  BLISTER  JONES 

Awlins — now,  you  let  me  ship  that  colt 
down  there  'n'  I'll  get  him  ready.  I'll 
charge  you  seventy-five  a  month  to  be 
paid  out  his  winnin's.  If  he  don't  win — 
no  charge.  Is  it  a  go?'  She  don't  say 
nothin'  fur  quite  a  while.  'I  sees  a  dozen 
hossmen  I  knows  over  at  the  sale,'  I  says. 
'If  you  want  recommends  I  can  get  any 
of  'em  to  come  over  'n'  speak  to  you 
about  me.' 

'  'No,  I  feel  that  you  are  trustworthy,' 
she  says,  'n'  goes  to  studyin'  some  more. 
'What  I  should  like  to  know,'  she  says 
after  while,  'is  this:  Do  trainers  make  a 
practise  of  taking  horses  at  the  same 
terms  you  have  just  offered  me?' 

'  'Sure  they  do,'  I  lies,  lookin'  her  in 
the  eye.  'Any  trainer'll  take  a  chance  on 
a  promisin'  colt.' 

'  'Are  you  certain?'  she  asks  me,  earn- 
est. 

;<  'Yes'm,  dead  certain,'  I  says.  She 
don't  say  nothin'  fur  maybe  five  min- 


SALVATION  121 

utes,  then  she  gets  up  V  looks  at  me 
steady. 

'You  may  take  him,'  she  says,  V 
walks  into  the  house. 

"I  finds  Uncle  Jake  'n'  eases  him  two 
bucks.  It  sure  helps  his  rheumatism. 
He  gets  as  spry  as  a  two-year-old.  He 
tells  me  there's  a  train  at  nine  that 
evenin'.  I  sends  him  to  the  depot  to 
fix  it  so  I  can  take  the  colt  to  Louey ville 
in  the  express  car,  'n'  he  says  he'll  get 
back  quick  as  he  can.  I  hunts  up 
Peewee,  but  he's  goin'  to  stay  all  night, 
'cause  the  yearlin's  won't  sell  till  next 
day.  .  .  . 

"The  sun's  goin'  down  when  we  starts 
fur  the  depot,  Uncle  Jake  drivin',  'n'  me 
settin'  behind,  leadin'  the  colt.  The 
sunlight's  red,  'n'  when  it  hits  that  chest- 
nut colt  he  shines  like  copper.  Say,  but 
he  was  some  proud  peacock! 

"I  sends  word  to  Miss  Goodloe  we're 
comin',  'n'  she's  waitin'  at  the  gate.  The 


122  BLISTER  JONES 

colt  nickers  when  he  sees  her,  'n*  she 
comes  'n'  takes  the  lead  strap  from  me. 
Then  she  holds  up  her  finger  at  the  colt. 

( 'Now,  Boy-baby!'  she  says.  'Every- 
thing depends  on  you — you're  all  mammy 
has  in  the  world  .  .  .  will  you  do 
your  best  for  her  sake?'  The  colt  paws 
'n'  arches  his  neck.  'See,  he  says  he 
will!'  she  says  to  me. 

'What's  his  name?'  I  asks  her. 

'  'Oh,  dear,  he  hasn't  any !'  she  says. 
'I've  always  called  him  Boy-baby.' 

c  'He  can't  race  under  that,'  I  says. 

'  'Between  now  and  the  time  he  starts 
I'll  think  of  a  name  for  him,'  she  says. 
'Do  you  really  believe  he  can  win?' 

'They  tell  me  his  dam  wins  twenty 
thousand  the  first  year  she  raced,'  I  says. 

'  'He'd  be  our  salvation  if  he  did  that,' 
she  says. 

'There's  a  name,'  I  says.  'Call  him 
Salvation !'  She  says  over  it  two  or  three 
times. 


SALVATION  123 

'That's  not  a  bad  racing  name,  is  it?' 
she  asks  me. 

£  'No'm,'  I  says.  'That's  a  good  name.' 
'Very  well,  Boy-baby,'  she  says  to 
the  colt.  'I  christen  thee  Salvation, 
with  this  lump  of  sugar.  That's  a  fine 
name!  Always  bear  it  bravely.'  She 
puts  her  arms  around  the  colt's  neck  'n' 
kisses  him  on  the  nose.  Then  she  hands 
me  the  lead  strap  'n'  steps  aside.  'Good- 
by,  and  good  luck!'  she  says. 

"When  we  turns  the  bend,  way  down 
the  road,  she's  still  standin'  there  watch- 
in'  us  ... 

"I  sends  the  colt  down  with  a  swipe, 
'n'  he's  been  at  the  track  a  week  when  I 
gets  to  New  Awlins.  The  boys  have 
begun  to  talk  'bout  him  already,  he's 
such  a  grand  looker.  He  don't  give  me 
no  trouble  at  all.  He's  quiet  'n'  kind  'n' 
trustin'.  Nothin'  gets  him  excited,  'n' 
I  begins  to  be  afraid  he'll  be  a  sluggard. 
It  don't  take  me  long  to  see  he  won't  do 


124  BLISTER  JONES 

fur  the  sprints — distance  is  what  he  likes. 
He's  got  a  big  swingin'  gallop  that  sure 
fools  me  at  first.  He  never  seems  to  be 
tryin'  a  lick.  When  he's  had  two  months 
prep.  I  has  my  exercise-boy  let  him  down 
fur  a  full  mile.  Man!  he  just  gallops  in 
forty  flat!  Then  I  know  I've  got  some- 
thin'! 

"His  first  race  I'm  as  nervous  as  a 
dame.  I  don't  bet  a  dollar  on  him  fur 
fear  I'll  queer  it.  Anyway,  he  ain't  a 
good  price — you  can't  keep  him  under 
cover,  he's  too  flashy-lookin'. 

"Well,  he  comes  home  alone,  just 
playin'  along,  the  jock  lookin'  back  at  the 
bunch. 

'  'How  much  has  he  got  left?'  I  says 
to  the  jock  after  the  race. 

'  'Him!'  says  the  jock.  'Enough  to 
beat  anybody's  hoss!' 

"I  starts  him  the  next  week,  'n'  he 
repeats,  but  it  ain't  till  his  third  race 
that  I  know  fur  sure  he's  a  great  hoss, 
with  a  racin'  heart. 


SALVATION  125 

"Sweeney  has  the  mount,  'n'  he  don't 
get  him  away  good — the  colt's  layin' 
a  bad  seventh  at  the  quarter.  Banjo's 
out  in  front,  away  off — 'n'  she's  a  real 
good  mare.  That  pin-head  Sweeney  don't 
make  a  move  till  the  stretch,  then  he 
tries  to  come  from  seventh  all  at  once 
.  .  .  V  by  God,  he  does  it!  That 
colt  comes  from  nowhere  to  the  Banjo 
mare  while  they're  goin'  an  eighth!  The 
boy  on  Banjo  goes  to  the  bat,  but  the 
colt  just  gallops  on  by  'n'  breezes  in 
home. 

"  'You  bum!'  I  says  to  Sweeney. 
'What  kind  of  a  trip  do  you  call  that? 
Did  you  get  off  'n'  shoot  a  butsy  at  the 
stretch  bend?' 

"  'If  I  has  a  match  I  would,'  says 
Sweeney.  'I  kin  smoke  it  easy,  'n'  then 
back  in  ahead  of  them  turtles.' 

"I  know  then  the  colt's  good  enough 
fur  the  stakes,  'n'  I  writes  Miss  Goodloe 
to  see  if  I  can  use  the  fourteen  hundred 
he's  won  to  make  the  first  payments. 


126  BLISTER  JONES 

She's  game  as  a  pebble,  'n'  says  to  stake 
him  the  limit.  So  I  enters  him  from  New 
Awlins  to  Pimlico. 

"I've  had  all  kinds  of  offers  fur  the 
colt,  but  I  always  tell  'em  nothin'  doin'. 
One  day  a  lawyer  named  Jack  Dillon, 
who  owns  a  big  stock  farm  near  Lexing- 
ton, comes  to  me  'n'  says  he  wants  to 
buy  him. 

'  'He  ain't  fur  sale,'  I  tells  him. 

'  'Everything's  for  sale  at  a  price,'  he 
says.  'Now  I  want  that  colt  worse  than 
I  do  five  thousand.  What  do  you  say?' 

'  'I  ain't  sayin'  nothin','  I  says. 

'  'How  does  eight  thousand  look  to 
you?'  he  says. 

"  'Big,'  I  says.  'But  you'll  have  to 
see  Miss  Goodloe  at  Goodloe,  Kentucky, 
if  you  want  this  colt.' 

"Oh,  General  Goodloe's  daughter,'  he 
says.  'Does  she  own  him?  When  I  go 
back  next  week  I'll  drop  over  and  see 
her/ 


SALVATION  127 

"Well,  Salvation  starts  in  the  Crescent 
City  Derby,  'n'  when  he  comes  under  the 
wire  Miss  Goodloe's  five  thousand  bucks 
better  off.  He  wins  another  stake,  *n* 
then  I  ship  him  with  the  rest  of  my  string 
to  Nashville.  The  second  night  we're 
there,  here  comes  Jack  Dillon  to  the 
stall  with  a  paper  bag  in  his  hand. 

"  'You  didn't  get  the  colt?'  I  says  to 
him. 

"  'No,'  he  says.  'I  didn't  get  anything 
.  .  .  I  lost  something.' 

"  'What?'    I  says. 

*'  'Never  mind  what,'  he  says.  'Here, 
put  this  bag  of  sugar  where  I  can  get  at 
it.  She  told  me  to  feed  him  two  lumps 
a  day.' 

"After  that  he  comes  every  evenin' 
V  gives  the  colt  sugar,  but  he's  poor 
company.  He  just  stands  lookin'  at  the 
colt.  Half  the  time  he  don't  hear  what 
I  say  to  him. 

"The  colt  wins  the  Nashville  Derby,  'n' 


128  BLISTER  JONES 

then  I  ships  him  to  Loueyville  for  the 
Kentucky.  We  want  him  to  win  that 
more'n  all  the  rest,  but  as  luck  goes,  he 
ketches  cold  shippin',  'n*  he  can't  start. 

"Miss  Goodloe  comes  over  to  Louey- 
ville one  mawnin'  to  see  him.  She  gets 
through  huggin'  him  after  while,  'n'  sets 
down  in  a  chair  by  the  stall  door. 

8  'Now,    start   at   the   beginning   and 
tell  me  everything/  she  says. 

"So  I  tells  her  every  move  the  colt 
makes  since  I  has  him. 

'  'How  did  he  happen  to  catch  cold?' 
she  asks. 

'  'Constitution    undermined,'    I    says. 

"  'Oh!  How  dreadful!'  she  says.  'What 
caused  it?' 

"  'Sugar,'  I  says,  never  crackin'  a 
smile. 

"She  flushes  up,  'n'  I  see  she  knows 
what  I  mean,  but  she  don't  ask  no  more 
questions.  Before  she  leaves,  Miss  Good- 
loe tells  me  she'll  come  to  Cincinnati  if 


SALVATION  129 

the  colt's  well  enough  to  start  IB  the 
Latonia  Derby. 

"  I  ships  to  Cincinnati.  About  noon 
derby  day  I'm  watchin'  the  swipes  work- 
in'  on  the  colt.  He's  favorite  fur  the 
Latonia  'n'  there's  mebby  a  hundred 
boobs  in  front  of  the  stall  rubberin'  at 
him. 

£  Tlease  let  dis  lady  pass,'  I  hears 
some  one  say,  'n'  here  comes  Liza  helpin' 
Miss  Goodloe  through  the  crowd.  When 
Liza  sees  me  I  ducks  'n'  holds  up  my 
arm  like  I'm  dodgin'  somethin'.  She 
grins  till  her  mouth  looks  like  a  tomb- 
stone factory. 

"  'I  clean  fohgot  to  bring  dat  pokah 
wid  me,'  she  says.  'Hyar  you  is,  Miss 
Sally.' 

"I  don't  hardly  know  Miss  Goodloe. 
There's  nothin'  like  race  day  to  get  a 
dame  goin'.  Her  eyes  are  shinin'  'n'  her 
cheeks  are  pink,  'n'  she  don't  look  more'n 
sixteen. 


130  BLISTER  JONES 

"  'Why,  Boy-baby/  she  says  to  the 
colt,  'you've  grown  to  be  such  a  wonder- 
ful person  I  can't  believe  it's  you!'  The 
colt  knows  it's  race  day  'n'  he  don't  pay 
much  attention  to  her.  'Oh,  Boy-baby!' 
says  Miss  Goodloe,  'I'm  afraid  you've 
had  your  head  turned  .  .  .  you  don't 
even  notice  your  own  mammy!' 

'  'His  head  ain't  turned,  it's  full  of 
race,'  I  says  to  her.  He'll  come  down  to 
earth  after  he  gets  that  mile-'n'-a-quarter 
under  his  belt.' 

"When  the  bugle  blows,  Miss  Goodloe 
asks  me  to  stay  in  her  box  with  her 
while  the  derby's  run.  There's  twenty 
thousand  people  there  'n'  I  guess  the 
whole  bunch  has  bet  on  the  colt,  from 
the  way  it  sounds  when  the  hosses  pa- 
rade past.  You  can't  hear  nothin'  but 
4 Salva-a-tion!  Oh,  you  Salva-a-tion!' 

"They  get  a  nice  break  all  in  a  line,  but 
when  they  come  by  the  stand  the  first 
time,  the  colt's  layin'  at  the  rail  a  len'th 
in  front,  fightin'  fur  his  head. 


SALVATION  131 

"  'Salva-a-tion!'  goes  up  from  the  stands 
in  one  big  yell. 

"  *  There  he  goes!9  hollers  some  swipe 
across  the  track,  'n'  then  everything  is 
quiet. 

"Miss  Goodloe's  got  her  fingers  stuck 
into  my  arm  till  it  hurts.  But  that 
don't  bother  me. 

"  'Isn't  it  wonderful?'  she  says,  but 
the  pink's  gone  out  of  her  cheeks.  She's 
real  pale  .  .  . 

"They  never  get  near  the  colt.  .  .  . 
He  comes  home  alone  with  that  big  easy, 
swingin'  gallop  of  his,  'n'  goes  under 
the  wire  still  fightin'  fur  his  head. 

"Then  that  crowd  goes  plumb  crazy! 
Men  throws  their  hats  away,  'n'  dances 
around,  yellin'  till  they  can't  whisper! 
Miss  Goodloe  is  shakin'  so  I  has  to  hold 
her  up. 

1  'Isn't  he  grand?  How  would  you 
like  to  own  him?'  a  woman  in  the  next 
box  says  to  her. 

"  'I'd  love  it,'  says  Miss  Goodloe,  'n' 


132  BLISTER  JONES 

busts  out  cryin'.     'You'll  think  I'm  an 
awful  baby!'  she  says  to  me. 

"  'I  don't  mind  them  kind  of  tears,' 
I  says. 

"  'Neither  do  I/  she  says,  laughin',  'n' 
dabbin'  at  her  face  with  a  dinky  little 
hankerchiff. 

"I  wait  till  they  lead  the  colt  out  in 
front  of  the  stand,  'n*  put  the  floral 
horseshoe  round  his  neck,  then  I  takes 
Miss  Goodloe  down  to  shake  hands  with 
the  jock. 

'  'How  do  you  like  him?'  she  says  to 
the  jock. 

'Well,  ma'am,'  he  says,  'I've  ridden 
all  the  good  ones,  but  he's  the  best  hoss 
I  ever  has  under  me!' 

'What's  the  record  fur  this  race?' 
I  yells  across  the  track  to  the  timer. 
He  points  down  at  the  time  hung  up. 

"  'That's  it!'  he  hollers  back. 

'  'Didn't  he  do  it  easy?'  says  the  jock 
to  me. 


SALVATION  138 

"There's  no  use  to  tell  you  what  Sal- 
vation done  to  them  Eastern  bosses; 
everybody  knows  about  that.  It  got 
so  the  ginnies  would  line  up  in  a  bunch, 
every  time  he  starts,  'n'  holler:  'They're 
off — there  he  goes?  They  does  it  regular, 
'n'  pretty  soon  the  crowds  get  next  'n' 
then  everybody  does  it.  He  begins  to 
stale  off  at  Pimlico,  so  I  ships  him  to 
Miss  Goodloe,  'n'  writes  her  to  turn  him 
out  fur  three  or  four  months. 

"It  ain't  a  year  from  the  time  we 
leaves  Miss  Goodloe  standin'  in  the  road 
till  then.  Salvation  wins  his  every  start. 
He's  copped  off  forty  thousand  bucks. 
I  guess  that's  goin'  some! 

"When  the  season  closes  I  goes  through 
Kentucky  on  my  way  South,  'n'  I  takes 
a  jump  over  from  Loueyville  to  see  the 
colt.  Miss  Goodloe's  bought  a  hundred 
acres  around  her  little  house,  'n'  the  colt's 
turned  out  in  a  nice  bluegrass  field. 
We're  standin'  watchin*  him,  when  she 


134  BLISTER  JONES 

puts  somethin'  in  my  pocket.  I  fishes  it 
out  'n'  it's  a  check  fur  five  thousand 
bucks. 

'  'I've  been  paid  what's  comin'  to  me,' 
I  says.  'No  thin'  like  this  goes.' 

'  'Oh,  yes,  it  does !'  she  says.  'I  have 
investigated  since  you  told  me  that 
story.  Trainers  do  not  pay  expenses  on 
other  people's  horses.  Now,  put  that 
back  in  your  pocket  or  I  will  be  mortally 
offended.' 

'  'I  don't  need  it,'  I  says. 

'  'Neither  do  I,'  she  says.  'I  haven't 
told  you — guess  what  I've  been  offered 
for  Salvation?' 

'  'I  give  it  up,'  I  says. 

'  'Fifty  thousand  dollars,'  she  says. 
'What  do  you  think  of  that?' 

"  'Are  you  goin'  to  sell?'  I  asks  her. 

'  'Certainly  not,'   she  says. 

"  'He'll  earn  twice  that  in  the  stud,' 
I  says.  'Who  makes  you  the  offer — Mr. 
Dillon?' 


SALVATION  135 

"  'No,  a  New  York  man,'  she  says.  'I 
guess  Mr.  Dillon  has  lost  interest  in 
him.' 

'  'I  guess  he  hasn't,'  I  says.  'I  seen 
him  at  Pimlico,  'n'  he  was  worse  'n 


ever. 

M 


'Did — did  he  still  feed  him  sugar?' 
she  says,  but  she  don't  look  at  me  while 
she's  gettin'  it  out, 

'You  bet  he  did,'  I  says. 

f  'Shall  you  see  him  again?'  she  asks 
me. 

"  'Yes'm,  I'll  see  him  at  New  Awlins,' 
I  says. 

'You  may  tell  him,'  she  says,  her 
face  gettin'  pink,  'that  as  far  as  my 
horse  is  concerned  I  haven't  changed 
my  mind.' 

On   the  way  back  to  the  house  I  gets 
to  thinkin'. 

'  'I'm  goin'  round  to  the  kitchen  'n' 
say  hello  to  Aunt  Liza,'  I  says  to  Miss 
Goodloe. 


136  BLISTER  JONES 

:  Liza's  glad  to  see  me  this  time- 
mighty  glad. 

'  'Hyah's  a  nice  hot  fried  cake  fo* 
you,  honey,'  she  says. 

'This  ain't  no  fried  cake,'  I  says. 
'This  is  a  doughnut.' 

'You  ain'  tryin'  to  tell  me  what  a 
fried  cake  is,  is  you?'  she  says. 

'  'Aunt  Liza,'  I  says  to  her  while  I'm 
eatin'  the  doughnut,  'I  sees  Mr.  Jack 
Dillon  after  he's  been  here,  'n'  he  acts 
like  he'd  had  a  bad  time.  Did  you  take 
a  poker  to  him,  too?' 

"  'No,    sah,'    she    says.      'Miss    Sally 
tended  to  his  case.' 

(  'It's  too  bad  she  don't  like  him,' 
I  says. 

'Who  say  she  doan'  like  him?'  says 
Liza.  'He  come  a  sto'min'  round  hyah 
like  he  gwine  to  pull  de  whole  place  up 
by  de  roots  an'  transpo't  hit  ovah  Lex- 
ington way.  Fust  he's  boun*  fo'  to 
take  dat  hoss  what's  done  win  all  dem 
good  dollahs.  Den  his  mins  flit  f'om 


SALVATION  137 

dat  to  Miss  Sally,  an'  he's  aimin'  to  cyar 
her  off  like  she  was  a  'lasses  bar'l  or  a 
yahd  ob  calico.  Who  is  dem  Dillons, 
anyway?  De  Goodloes  owned  big  Ian' 
right  hyar  in  Franklin  County  when  de 
Dillons  am'  nothin'  but  Yankee  trash 
back  in  Maine  or  some  other  outlan'ish 
place!  Co'se  we  sends  him  'bout  his 
bisniss — him  an'  his  money!  Ef  he 
comes  roun'  hyar,  now  we's  rich  again, 
an'  sings  small  fo'  a  while,  Miss  Sally 
mighty  likely  to  listen  to  what  he  got 
to  say — she  so  kindly  dat  a- way.' 

"At  the  depot  in  Goodloe  that  night 
I  writes  a  wire  to  Jack  Dillon.  'If  you 
still  want  Salvation  better  come  to  Good- 
loe,' is  what  the  wire  says.  I  signs  it 
V  sends  it  'n*  takes  the  train  fur  New 
Awlins. 

"The  colt  ruptures  a  tendon  not  long 
after  that,  so  he  never  races  no  more,  *n* 
I  ain't  never  been  to  Goodloe  since." 

Blister  yawned,  lay  back  on  the  grass 
and  pulled  his  hat  over  his  face. 


138  BLISTER  JONES 

"Is  Salvation  alive  now?'  I  asked. 

"Sure  he's  alive!"  The  words  come 
muffled  from  beneath  the  hat.  "He's  at 
the  head  of  Judge  Dillon's  stock  farm 
over  near  Lexington." 

"I'm  surprised  Miss  Goodloe  sold  him," 
I  said. 

"She  don't  ....  sell  him,"  Blister 
muttered  drowsily.  "Mrs.  Dillon  .... 
still  owns  him." 


A  TIP  IN  TIME 

BLISTER  was  silent  as  we  left  the 
theater.  I  had  chosen  the  play  be- 
cause I  had  fancied  it  would  particularly 
appeal  to  him.  The  name  part — a  char- 
acterization of  a  race-horse  tout — had 
been  acceptably  done  by  a  competent 
young  actor.  The  author  had  hewn  as 
close  to  realism  as  his  too  clever  lines 
would  permit.  There  had  been  a  wealth 
of  Blister's  own  vernacular  used  on  the 
stage  during  the  evening,  and  I  had 
rather  enjoyed  it  all.  But  Blister,  it 
was  now  evident,  had  been  disappointed. 

"You  didn't  like  it?"  I  said  tenta- 
tively, as  I  steered  him  toward  the  blaz- 
ing word  "Rathskeller,"  a  block  down 
the  street. 

"Oh,  I've  seed  worse  shows,"  was  the 
unenthusiastic  reply.  "I  can  get  an  ear- 
139 


140  BLISTER  JONES 

ful  of  that  kind  of  chatter  dead  easy 
without  pryin'  myself  loose  from  any 
kale,"  he  added. 

I  saw  where  the  trouble  lay.  The 
terse  expressive  jargon  of  the  race  track, 
its  dry  humor  just  beneath  its  hard  sur- 
face, might  delight  the  unsophisticated, 
but  not  Blister.  To  him  it  lacked  in 
novelty. 

"I  ain't  been  in  one  of  these  here  rats 
ketchers  fur  quite  a  while,"  said  Blister, 
as  we  descended  the  steps  beneath  the 
flambuoyant  sign.  "Do  you  go  to 
shows  much?"  he  asked,  when  two  steins 
were  between  us  on  the  flemish  oak  board. 

"Not  a  great  deal,"  I  replied.  "I 
did  dramatics — wrote  up  shows — for  two 
years  and  that  rather  destroyed  my 
enjoyment  of  the  theater." 

"I  got  you,"  said  Blister.  "Seein'  so 
much  of  it  spoils  you  fur  it.  That's  me, 
too.  I  won't  cross  the  street  to  see  a 
show  when  I'm  on  the  stage." 


A  TIP  IN  TIME  141 

Had  he  suddenly  announced  himself 
king  of  the  Cannibal  Islands  I  would 
have  looked  and  felt  about  as  then.  I 
gazed  at  him  with  dropping  jaw. 

"No,  I  ain't  bugs!"  he  grinned,  as 
he  saw  my  expression.  "I'm  on  the  stage 
quite  a  while.  Ain't  I  never  told  you?" 

"You  certainly  have  not,"  I  said 
emphatically. 

"I  goes  on  the  stage  just  because  I 
starts  to  cuss  a  dog  I  owns  one  day," 
said  Blister.  "It's  the  year  they  pull  off 
one  of  these  here  panic  things,  and  be- 
lieve me  the  kale  just  fades  from  view! 
If  you  borrow  a  rub-rag,  three  ginnies 
come  along  to  bring  it  back  when  you're 
through.  If  you  happens  to  mention 
you  ain't  got  your  makin's  with  you,  the 
nearest  guy  to  you'll  call  the  police. 
They  wouldn't  have  a  hoss  trained  that 
could  run  a  mile  in  nothin'. 

"A  dog  out  on  grass  don't  cost  but 
two  bucks  a  month.  It  seems  like  the 


142  BLISTER  JONES 

men  I'm  workin'  fur  all  remembers  this 
at  once.  When  I'm  through  folio  win' 
shippin'  instructions  I'm  down  to  one 
mutt,  'n'  I  owns  him  myself.  He's  some 
hoss — I  don't  think.  He's  got  a  splint 
big  as  a  turkey  egg  that  keeps  him  ouchy 
in  front  half  the  time,  'n'  his  heart  ain't 
in  the  right  place.  I've  filled  his  old 
hide  so  full  of  hop  you  could  knock  his 
eyes  off  with  a  club,  tryin'  to  make  him 
cop,  but  he  won't  come  through — third 
is  the  best  he'll  do. 

"One  day  about  noon  I'm  standin' 
lookin'  in  the  stall  door,  watchin'  him 
mince  over  his  oats.  They  ain't  nothin' 
good  about  this  dog — not  even  his  ap- 
petite. I  ain't  had  a  real  feed  myself 
fur  three  days,  'n'  when  I  sees  this  ole 
counterfeit  mussin'  over  his  grub  I  opens 
up  on  him. 

'Why,  you  last  year's  bird's  nest!' 
I  says  to  him.  'What  th'  hell  right  have 
you  got  to  be  fussy  with  your  eats?  They 


A  TIP  IN  TIME  143 

ain't  a  oat  in  that  box  but  what  out- 
classes you — they've  all  growed  faster'n 
you  can  run!  The  only  thing  worse'n 
you  is  a  ticket  on  you  to  win.  If  I  pulls 
your  shoes  off  'n'  has  my  choice  between 
you  'n'  them — I  takes  the  shoes.  If  I 
wouldn't  be  pinched  fur  it  I  gives  you 
to  the  first  nut  they  lets  out  of  the  bug- 
house— you  sour-bellied-mallet-headed- 
yellow  pup !  You  cross  between  a  canary 
'n'  a  mud-turtle!' 

"That  gets  me  sort-a  warmed  up,  'n' 
then  I  begins  to  really  tell  this  dog  what 
the  sad  sea  waves  is  sayin'.  When  I 
can't  think  of  nothin'  more  to  call  him, 
I  stops. 

"  'Outside  of  that  he's  all  right,  ain't 
he?'  says  some  one  behind  me. 

"  'No,'  I  says,  'he  has  other  faults 
besides,' 

"I  turns  round  'n'  there's  a  fat  guy 
with  a  cigar  in  his  face.  He's  been  stand- 
in'  there  listenin'.  He's  got  a  chunk  of 


144  BLISTER  JONES 

ice  stuck  in  his  chest  that  you  have  to 
look  at  through  smoked  glasses.  He's 
got  another  one  just  as  big  on  his  south 
hook.  Take  him  all  'n*  all  he  looks  like 
the  real  persimmon. 

"  'Do  you  own  him?'  says  the  fat  guy. 
*  You've    had    no    call    to  insult     a 
stranger,'  I  says.     'But  it's  on  me — I 
owns  him.' 

"  Tm  sorry  you've  got  such  a  bad 
opinion  of  him,'  he  says.  'I  was  thinkin' 
of  buy  in'  him.' 

"I  looks  around  fur  this  guy's  keeper — 
they  ain't  nobody  in  sight. 

'This  ain't  such  a  bad  hoss/  I  says. 
'Them  remarks  you  hears  don't  mean 
nothin'.  They're  my  regular  pet  Tames 
fur  him/ 

6  'I'd  like  to  be  around  once  when  you 
talk  to  a  bad  one,'  says  the  guy.  'Now 
look  a-here,'  he  says.  'I'll  buy  this  horse, 
but  get  over  all  thoughts  of  makin'  a 
sucker  out  of  me.  What  do  you  want 


A  TIP  IN  TIME  145 

for  him?  If  you  try  to  stick  me  up — I'm 
gone.  The  woods  is  full  of  this  kind. 
Let's  hear  from  you!' 

'  'Fur  a  hundred  I  throws  in  a  halter,' 
I  says. 

'You've  sold  one,'  says  the  guy,  'n' 
peels  off  five  yellow  men  from  a  big  roll. 
"When  I've  got  the  kale  safe  in  my 
clothes,  I  gets  curious. 

'What  do  you  want  with  this  hoss?' 
I  says. 

1  'He's  to  run  on  rollers  in  a  racing 
scene,'  he  says. 

'Well,'  I  says,  'some  skates  has  rollers 
on  'em,  maybe  they'll  help  this  one. 
God  knows  he  ain't  any  good  with  just 
legs!' 

'He's  plenty  good  enough  for  his 
act,'  says  the  guy.  'And  say,  I  want 
another  one  like  him,  and  a  man  to  go  on 
the  road  with  'em.  Can  you  put  me 
wise?' 

"  'How  much  would  be  crowded  to- 


146  BLISTER  JONES 

wards    the   party   you   want,    Saturday 
nights?'  I  says. 

'Twenty  dollars  and  expenses,'  says 
he. 

"  'Make  it  thirty,'  I  says.  'Travelin's 
hard  on  them  that  loves  their  home.' 

"'We'll  split  it,'  he  says.  'Twenty- 
five's  the  word.' 

'  'My  time's  yours,'  I  says. 

6  'How  about  the  other  horse?'  says 
the  fat  guy. 

'You'll  own  him  in  eight  minutes,' 
I  says.  'Stay  here  with  Edwin  Booth 
till  I  get  back.' 

"I  hustles  down  the  line  'n'  finds 
Peewee  Simpson  washin'  out  bandages — 
that's  what  hed  come  to. 

"  'You  still  got  that  sorrel  hound?'  I 
says  to  him. 

:  'Nope,'  says  Peewee.  'He's  got  me. 
I'm  takin'  in  washin'  to  support  him.' 

'  'Brace  yourself  fur  a  shock,'  I  says. 
'I'll  give  you  real  money  fur  him.' 


A  TIP  IN  TIME  147 

"Pee wee  looks  at  me  fur  a  minute 
like  you  done  a  while  ago. 

'  'Don't  wake  me  up!'  he  says.  'I 
must — '  then  he  stops  'n'  takes  another 
slant  at  me.  'Say!'  he  says,  'I'll  bet 
you've  got  next!  I  ain't  told  you  yet — 
who  put  you  hep?' 

f  'Hep  to  what?'  I  says. 

'Why,  this  hoss  works  a  mile  in  forty 
yesterday,'  says  Pee  wee.  'I'm  goin'  to 
cop  with  him  next  week.' 

'Your  work's  coarse,'  I  says.  'The 
only  way  that  dog  goes  a  mile  in  forty  is 
in  the  baggage  coach  ahead.  I'm  in  a 
hurry!  Here's  a  hundred  fur  the  pup. 
Don't  break  a  leg  gettin'  him  out  of  the 
stall.' 

"  I  don't  stop  to  answer  Pee  wee's 
questions,  but  leads  the  hoss  back  to  the 
fat  guy. 

c  'Here's  Salvini,'  I  says.  'He  cost 
you  a  hundred.' 

"  'S.  R.  O.  for  you/  says  he,  'n'  slips 


148  BLISTER  JONES 

me  the  hundred.  'Now,  take  him  and 
Edwin  Booth  to  the  livery-stable  round 
the  corner  from  the  Alhambra  Theater. 
Come  to  the  Gilsey  House  at  six  o'clock 
and  ask  for  me.  My  name  is  Banks/ 

'There's  class  to  that  name/  I  says. 
'It  sure  sounds  good  to  me.' 

1  'Keep  on  your  toes  like  you've  done 
so  far  and  it'll  be  as  good  as  it  sounds,' 
says  he. 

"That  evenin'  Banks  tells  me  the  dogs 
he's  bought  is  fur  a  show  called  A  Blue 
Grass  Belle.  A  dame  is  to  ride  one  of 
'em  in  the  show,  'n'  I'm  to  ride  the  other. 

1  'I've  arranged  to  have  the  apparatus 
set  up  back  of  the  livery-stable,'  says 
Banks,  'so  you  can  rehearse  the  horses 
for  their  act.  When  they  know  their 
parts  I'll  bring  Pixley  around  and  you 
can  work  the  act  together.  She  was  a 
rube  before  she  hit  the  big  town  and  she 
says  she  can  ride.' 

"Say,   this   dingus  fur   the   hosses   to 


A  TIP  IN  TIME  149 

run  on  is  there  like  a  duck.  The  guy 
that  thinks  it  up  has  a  grand  bean! 
You  leads  a  hoss  on  to  it  V  when  it's 
ready  you  gives  him  the  word.  He  starts 
to  walk  off,  nothin'  doin',  he  ain't  goin' 
nowhere.  You  fans  him  with  the  bat. 
'I'll  be  on  my  way/  he  says.  But  he 
ain't  got  a  chance — the  faster  he  romps 
the  faster  the  dingus  rolls  out  from  under 
him.  He  can  run  a  forty  shot,  'n'  he 
don't  go  no  further  'n  I  can  throw  a 
piano ! 

"After  I've  worked  both  dogs  on  the 
dingus  fur  a  week  or  so,  I  tells  Banks 
they  know  the  game — 'n'  believe  me, 
they  did !  Why,  them  ole  hounds  got  so 
they  begins  to  prance  when  they  see  the 
machine.  They'd  lay  down  'n'  ramble 
till  they  dropped  if  I  lets  'em.  They 
liked  it  fine! 

"  Til  send  Pixley  around  to-morrow,' 
says  Banks.  'I  want  you  to  teach  her  the 
jockey's  crouch  when  she's  on  her  horse.' 


150  BLISTER  JONES 

"Next  mawnin'  I'm  oilin'  up  the  dingus 
when  a  chicken  pokes  her  little  head  out 
the  back  door  of  the  livery-stable. 
'  'Hello,  kid,'  she  says  to  me. 
'  'Hello,  girlie,'  I  says  back. 
'  'Miss  Pixley,  if  you  please.,'  she  says. 
"  'All  right,'  I  says.    '  'N'  while  we're 
at  it  Mr.  Jones'll  suit  me.' 

'  'Fade  away,'  she  says,  'n'  I  see  she's 
got  a  couple  of  dimples.  'Mr.  Jones 
don't  suit  you.' 

"  'Make  it  Blister,  then,'  I  says. 

'You're    on,'    she    says.      'And    you 
can  stick  to  girlie.' 

"Say,  she  was  a  great  little  dame;  she 
makes  a  hit  with  me  the  first  dash  out 
of  the  box.  When  it  comes  to  ridin'  she's 
game  as  a  wasp.  She  has  on  a  long  coat, 
'n'  I  don't  see  what's  underneath. 

'  'Banks  tells  me  you  ride  like  a  jock 
in  the  show,'  I  says.  'You  can't  cut  the 
mustard  with  that  rig  on.' 

'  'Sure  not,  Simple  Simon!'  she  says. 


A  TIP  IN  TIME  151 

'Do  you  think  this  grows  on  me?'  She 
sheds  the  coat,  'n'  I  see  she's  got  on  leg- 
gins  'n'  a  pair  of  puffy  pants. 

"I  throws  her  on  to  Salvini  'n'  he 
begins  to  prance  around,  me  holdin'  him 
by  the  head. 

'Whoa,  you  big  bum!'  I  says  to  him. 

'  'Quit  knocking  my  horse,'  she  says. 
'Let  go  of  him  and  see  if  I  care.' 

"I  turns  him  loose  'n'  she  lets  him 
jump  a  few  times  'n'  then  rides  him  on  to 
the  machine.  I  see  she  knows  her  busi- 
ness so  I  stands  beside  her  'n'  makes  her 
sit  him  like  she  ought.  It  don't  take 
her  no  time  to  get  wise.  Pretty  soon 
she's  clear  over  with  a  hand  on  each  side 
of  his  withers,  'n'  him  goin'  like  a  stake 
hoss. 

"  'That's  the  dope!'  I  hollers.  I  has 
to  yell  'cause  the  ole  hound  is  makin'  a 
fierce  racket  on  the  machine. 

'I  feel  like  a  monkey  on  a  stick,' 
she  hollers  back,  but  she  don't  look  like 


152  BLISTER  JONES 

one.  Her  hair's  shook  loose,  her  eyes 
is  shinin*,  'n'  them  dimples  of  her's  is 
the  life  of  the  party. 

'  'So  long,  professor,'  she  says  to  me 
when  she's  goin'.  "Much  obliged  for  the 
lesson.  Our  act  will  be  a  scream.' 

"Not  long  after  that  they  moves  the 
dingus  over  to  the  theater,  'n'  Banks  tells 
me  to  bring  the  hosses  over  at  three 
o'clock  the  next  day.  I'm  there  to 
the  minute,  but  nobody  shows  up  'n'  I 
stands  out  in  front  with  the  dogs  fur 
what  seems  like  a  week.  All  of  a  sudden 
a  tall  pale  guy,  who  ain't  got  no  coat  on, 
comes  bustin'  out  of  the  entrance. 

"  'Where  in  hell  and  damnation  have 
you  been  with  these  skates?'  he  says. 
His  hair  is  stickin'  up  on  end  'n'  he's  got 
a  wild  look  in  his  eye. 

'  'Batty  as  a  barn,'  I  says  to  myself, 
'n'  gets  behind  Edwin  Booth. 

:t  'Speak  up!'  says  the  pale  guy.  'Be- 
fore I  do  murder!'  I  looks  up  'n'  down 
the  street — not  a  cop  in  sight. 


A  TIP  IN  TIME  153 

"  'I'm  a  gone  fawn  skin/  I  says  to 
myself,  but  I  thinks  I'll  try  to  soothe 
him  till  help  comes. 

"  'That's  all  right,  pal,  that's  all  right,' 
I  says  to  him.  'These  pretty  hosses  are 
in  a  show.  Did  you  ever  see  a  show? 
I  seen  a  show  once  that — ' 

"  'My  poor  boy,'  he  says,  breakin'  in. 
'I  didn't  know!  What  got  into  Banks?' 
he  says,  sort-a  to  hisself.  'Try  and  re- 
member,' he  says  to  me,  'weren't  you 
told  to  bring  these  pretty  horses  here  at 
three  o'clock?' 

"That  puts  me  jerry,  'n'  I  sure 
am  sore  when  I  thinks  how  he  gets  my 
goat. 

"  'Why,  you  big  stiff!'  I  says.  'Ain't 
I  been  standin'  here  with  these  plugs  fur 
a  week?  If  you  wants  'em,  why  don't 
you  come  'n*  tell  me  to  lead  'em  in? 
Do  you  think  I'm  a  mind-reader?' 

"His  voice  gets  wild  again. 
1  'Lead     'em     in     where?'     he     says. 
'Through  the  lobby?     Do  you  want  to 


154  BLISTER  JONES 

buy  'em  tickets  at  the  box-office?  Will 
you  have  orchestra  chairs  for  'em  or 
will  front-row  balcony  do?  Now  beat 
it  up  that  alley  to  the  stage  entrance, 
you  doddering  idiot!'  he  says.  'You've 
held  up  this  rehearsal  two  hours!' 

"Say,  I've  made  some  fierce  breaks  in 
my  time,  but  that  was  the  limit.  It  goes 
to  show  what  a  sucker  anybody  is  at  a 
new  game.  But  at  that,  a  child  would 
have  knowed  those  dogs  didn't  go  in  the 
front  way. 

"When  I  gets  on  to  the  stage  with  the 
hosses,  there's  guys  'n'  dames  standin' 
around  all  over  it.  The  chicken  comes  n' 
shakes  my  mitt. 

'  'Say,  kid,'  she  says,  'you'M  hit  the 
street  for  this  sure.  Where  have  you 
been?' 

"Before  I  can  tell  her,  here  comes 
the  pale  guy  down  the  aisle. 

'Everybody    off    stage!'    he    hollers. 
The  bunch  beats  it  to  the  sides.     'Now,' 


IA-<  y- 


"Where  have  you  been?" 


A  TIP  IN  TIME  155 

says  the  pale  guy.  'We'll  start  the  third 
act.  Pixley,'  he  says  to  the  chicken, 
'I'll  read  your  lines.  You  explain  to 
Daniel  Webster  his  cue,  lines  and  busi- 
ness for  your  scene.  Charlie,  hold  those 
horses/ 

"The  chicken  starts  to  wise  me  up 
like  he  tells  her.  I'm  a  jock  in  the  play, 
'n'  I  has  one  line  to  say.  'He'll  win,  sir, 
never  fear,'  is  the  line.  What  another 
guy  says  to  me  before  I  says  it  she  calls 
a  cue,  'n'  I  learns  that,  too.  I  don't  re- 
member much  what  goes  on  that  first 
day.  I  gets  through  my  stunt  O.  K., 
except  what  I  has  to  say — somehow,  I 
can't  get  it  off  my  chest  louder 'n  a  he- 
mouse  can  squeak. 

;  'If  any  one  told  me  a  horse  would 
win,  in  that  tone  of  voice,'  says  the  pale 
guy  to  me,  'I'd  go  bet  against  him!'  He 
keeps  me  sayin'  it  over  'n'  over  till 
pretty  soon  you  can  hear  me  nearly  three 
feet  away.  'That'll  have  to  do  for  to- 


156  BLISTER  JONES 

day,'  says  the  pale  guy.  'Everybody 
here  at  two  o'clock  to-morrow.  I'll  have 
the  lobby  swept  out  for  your  entrance, 
Daniel  Webster/  he  says  to  me. 

"I  tries  the  back  door  fur  a  change 
next  day  and  they  rehearse  all  afternoon. 
I'm  here  to  say  that  pale  guy  is  some 
dispenser  of  remarks.  At  plain  'n* 
fancy  cussin'  he's  a  bear. 

"He's  got  the  whole  bunch  buffaloed, 
except  the  chicken.  She  hands  it  back 
to  him  when  it  comes  too  strong. 

'  Tixley,'  he  says  to  her  once,  'your 
directions  call  for  a  quick  exit.  The 
audience  will  be  able  to  stand  it  if  you 
get  off  stage  inside  of  ten  minutes.  Try 
and  remember  you  are  not  stalling  a 
Johnny  with  a  fond  farewell  in  this 
scene.' 

'That's  a  real  cute  crack,'  says  the 
chicken.  'But  you've  got  your  dates 
mixed.  I  can  shoo  a  Johnny,  even  if 
he's  in  the  profession,'  she  says,  lookin' 


A  TIP  IN  TIME  157 

at  him,  'quicker  than  a  bum  stage  man- 
ager can  fire  a  little  chorus  girl.' 

"The  pale  guy's  name  is  De  Mott. 
He  looks  at  her  hard  fur  a  minute,  then 
he  swallers  the  dose. 

(  'Proceed  with  the  act/  he  says. 

"The  show  goes  great  the  first  night, 
far  as  I  can  see,  but  De  Mott  ain't  sat- 
isfied. 

" 'It's  dragging!  It's  dragging!'  he 
keeps  sayin'  to  everybody. 

"A  minute  before  I  has  to  walk  out  on 
the  stage,  leadin'  Edwin  Booth,  I  can't 
think  of  nothin'  but  what  I  has  to  say. 
I  gets  one  look  at  all  them  blurry  faces, 
'n'  I  goes  into  a  trance. 

"  'More  than  life  depends  on  this  race!' 
I  hears  a  voice  say,  about  a  mile  off. 
That's  my  cue,  but  all  I  can  remember 
is  to  tell  him  it's  a  cinch,  'n*  say  it  loud. 

"  'The  dog  cops  sure  as  hell!'  I  hollers. 

"After  the  act  De  Mott  rushes  over 
tearin'  at  his  collar  like  it's  chokin'  him. 


158  BLISTER  JONES 

"  'Don't  you  even  know  the  difference 
between  a  horse  and  a  dog?'  he  yells  at 
me. 

"  'If  you  sees  this  hound  cough  it  up 
in  the  stretch  often  as  I  have,  you  calls 
him  a  dog  yourself,'  I  says. 

"I  don't  furget  again  after  that,  'n' 
things  go  along  smooth  as  silk  from  then 
on. 

"The  show  runs  along  fur  a  week,  but 
it  don't  make  good. 

'The  waving  corn  for  this  outfit!' 
says  the  chicken  to  me,  Saturday  night. 
'The  citizens  of  Peoria,  Illinois,  will  have 
a  chance  to  lamp  my  art  before  long.' 

"She's  got  it  doped  right.  We  hit  the 
road  in  jig- time.  Banks  makes  a  speech 
before  we  leaves. 

'  'Ladies  and  gentlemen,'  he  says,  'I 
thank  you  for  your  good  work.  Mr.  De 
Mott  will  represent  me  on  the  road.  I 
hope  you  will  be  a  happy  family,  and  I 
wish  you  success.' 


A  TIP  IN  TIME  159 

"Outside  of  the  chicken,  I'm  not  stuck 
on  the  bunch.  They're  as  cheap  a  gang 
as  I'm  ever  up  against.  This  De  Mott 
guy  is  a  cheese  right,  but  he  sure  thinks 
he's  the  original  bell-wether.  He's  strong 
fur  the  chicken,  'n'  this  makes  the  others 
sore  at  her.  They  don't  have  much  to 
do  with  me  neither,  'n'  she  don't  fall  fur 
De  Mott,  so  her  'n'  me  sees  each  other  a 
lot. 

"She's  a  bug  over  bosses  'n'  the  track. 
She  wants  me  to  tell  her  all  about  trainin' 
a  boss  'n'  startin'  a  boss  'n'  fifty  other 
things  besides. 

:  'I  always  lose,'  she  says.  'But  then, 
I'm  a  rummy.  Can  you  tell  which  horse 
is  going  to  win,  Blister?' 

1  'Sometimes,'    I    says. 

'When  you  go  back  to  the  track  will 

you  put  me  wise  so  I  can  win?'  she  says. 

'You  bet  I  will,  girlie!'  I  says.    'Any 

time  I  cut  loose  a  good  thing  you  gets 

the  info  right  from  the  feed-box.' 


160  BLISTER  JONES 

"De  Mott  keeps  noticin'  us  stickin' 
together.  He's  talkin'  to  her  once  when 
I'm  passin*  by. 

1  'He's  on  the  square/  she  says  pretty 
loud.  'And  that's  more  than  you  can 
say  about  a  lot  of  people  I  know.' 

'That  big  ham  was  trying  to  knock 
you,'  she  says  to  me  afterwards. 

"We  makes  a  bunch  of  towns.  Nothin' 
very  big — burgs  like  Erie  'n'  Grand 
Rapids  'n'  Dayton.  Finally  we  hits  St. 
Louis  fur  a  two  weeks'  stand.  This  suits 
me.  I'm  sure  tired  of  shippin'  the  dogs 
every  few  days. 

"One  night  the  chicken  stops  me  as 
I'm  takin'  the  pups  to  their  kennel. 

'  'Come  back  for  me,  Blister,'  she  says, 
'when  you  get  your  horses  put  up. 
There's  a  Johnny  in  this  town  that's  pes- 
tering the  life  out  of  me.  He  wants 
me  to  go  to  'Frisco  with  him.' 

"When  I  gets  back  to  the  theater  I 
sees  a  green  buzz-wagon  at  the  stage 
door  with  a  guy  'n'  a  shofe  in  it. 


«f 


A  TIP  IN  TIME  161 

"The  chicken  has  hold  of  my  arm 
comin'  out  of  the  door,  but  she  lets  go 
of  it  'n'  then  steps  up  straight  to  the 
buzz-wagon. 

1  'I  can't  keep  my  engagement  with 
you  this  evening/  she  says.  'My  broth- 
er's in  town  and  I'm  going  to  be  with 
him.' 

'  'Bring  your  brother  along,5  says  the 
guy,  'n'  I  know  by  that  he's  got  it  bad. 

'  'I  can't  very  well,'  she  says.  'We 
have  some  family  matters  to  talk  over. 
I'll  see  you  some  other  evening.' 

"The  very  next  night  a  bunch  of 
scenery  tumbles  over.  The  race  is  goin' 
on,  'n'  Edwin  Booth  is  layin'  down  to  it 
right.  A  piece  of  scenery  either  falls  under 
his  feet  or  else  Jims  the  machine,  I 
never  knows  which,  anyhow,  all  of  a 
sudden  the  hoss  gets  real  f ootin'.  Bingo ! 
We're  on  our  way  like  we're  shot  out  of 
a  gun.  We  go  through  all  the  scenery 
on  that  side  'n'  Edwin  Booth  does  a  flop 
when  he  hits  the  brick  wall  at  the  end  of 


162  BLISTER  JONES 

the   stage.     The   ole   hound   ain't  even 
scratched.     I  ain't  hurt  neither. 

"The  curtain  rings  down  'n'  De  Mott 
comes  a-lopin*  to  where  I'm  gettin'  a 
painted  grand-stand  off  of  Edwin  Booth's 
front  legs. 

'  'In  heaven's  name  what  were  you 
trying  to  do?'  he  says. 

'  'I  was  just  practisin'  one  of  them 
quick  exits  you're  always  talkin'  about,' 
I  says. 

'  'All  right,'  he  says.  'Keep  on  prac- 
tising till  you  come  to  that  door!  Fol- 
low on  down  the  street  till  you  reach  the 
river  and  then  jump  in!' 

1  'I  guess  I'm  fired — is  that  it?'  I  says. 
'You're    a   good    guesser,'    says    De 
Mott. 

"The  chicken  has  come  over  by  this 
time. 

'  'Are  you  hurt,  Blister?'  she  says. 

:  'Not  a  bit,  girlie,'  I  says,  'n'  starts 
to  go  change  my  clothes. 


A  TIP  IN  TIME  163 

"  'Wait  till  I  give  you  an  order  on  the 

box-office  for  your  money/  says  De  Mott. 

'Well,    get    busy/    I    says    to    him. 

'I've    stood    it    around    where   you    are 

about  as  long  as  is  healthy/ 

'What's  that?'  says  the  chicken  to 
De  Mott.  'You  don't  mean  to  tell  me 
you  fired  him!' 

"  'I  don't  mean  to  tell  you  anything 
that's  none  of  your  business/  says  De 
Mott.  'Go  dress  for  the  next  act!' 

c  'Not  on  your  life!'  she  says.  'You 
can't  fire  him;  it  wasn't  his  fault!  I'll 
write  Banks  a  lot  I  know  about  you!' 

"De  Mott  pulls  out  his  watch. 

"  'I'll  give  you  just  one  minute  to 
start  for  your  dressing-room/  he  says 
to  her. 

"The  chicken  knocks  the  watch  out  of 
his  hand. 

"  'That  for  your  old  turnip  and  you, 
too !'  she  says. 

"'You're    fired!'    yells  De  Mott. 


164  BLISTER  JONES 

"  'Oh,  no,  I  ain't!'  says  the  chicken. 
'That's  my  way  of  breaking  a  contract 
and  a  watch  at  the  same  time.  You 
needn't  write  an  order  for  me,'  she  says. 
'I'm  overdrawn  a  week  now.' 

"When  we're  leavin',  after  we  gets 
our  street  clothes  on,  De  Mott  stops  us. 
'There's  a  way  you  can  both  get 
back,'  he  says  to  the  chicken. 

"  'When  I  sell  out,'  says  she,  'it'll  be 
to  a  real  man  for  real  money,  not  to  a 
cheap  ham-fat  for  a  forty-dollar  job.' 

"The  chicken  won't  stay  at  the  hotel 
where  the  bunch  is  that  night,  so  we 
both  moves  over  to  another.  When  we 
pays  our  bill  I  have  seven  bucks  left  'n' 
she  has  six. 

"  'We'll  decide  what  to  do  in  the  morn- 
ing, Blister,'  she  says.  'I've  got  a  head- 
ache, so  I  think  I'll  hit  the  hay.' 

"She  goes  to  her  room  'n'  I  sets  'n' 
studies  how  this  is  goin'  to  wind  up,  till 
three  o'clock. 


A  TIP  IN  TIME  165 

"We  has  breakfast  together  the  next 
mawnin'  about  noon. 

"  'Well,'  says  the  chicken,  'I've  been 
up  against  it  before,  but  this  is  tougher 
than  usual.  Everybody  I  know  is  broke 
or  badly  bent/ 

c  'Same  here/  I  says. 
"'You  poor  kid!'  she  says.     'What'll 
you  do?' 

'  'Don't  worry  none  about  me,'  I  says. 
'I  can  get  to  New  Awlins  somehow — 
they're  racin'  down  there.  But  what 
about  you?' 

'  'If  I  could  get  back  East,'  she  says, 
'I  know  a  floor-walker  at  Macy's  who'll 
stake  me  to  a  job  till  I  can  get  placed.' 
'You  stick  around  here,'  I  says, 
when  we're  through  eatin'.  'I'll  go  out 
'n'  give  the  burg  a  lookin'  over.' 

c  'I've  got  that   Johnny's  phone  num- 
ber,' she  says.     'I  wonder  if  he'd  stand 
for  a  touch  without  getting  too  fresh?' 
"I  goes  to  the  desk  'n*  wigwags  the 


166  BLISTER  JONES 

clerk.      He's   a   fair-haired   boy   with   a 
alabaster  dome. 

"  'Are  they  runnin'  poolrooms  in  the 
village?'  I  says. 

*  'Yes,  sir,'  he  says.  'Pool  and  billiard 
room  just  across  the  street.' 

"  'Much  obliged,'  I  says.  I  see  the 
tomtit  ain't  got  a  man's  size  chirp  in 
him,  so  I  goes  outside  'n'  hunts  up  a  bull. 

'  'Can  you  wise  me  up  to  a  pony 
bazaar  in  this  neck  of  the  woods?'  I  says 
to  him. 

8  'Go  chase  yourself,'  he  says.  'What 
do  you  think  I  am — a  capper?' 

'  'Be  a  sport,'  I  says.  'Come  through 
with  the  info — I  ain't  a  live  one.  I'm  a 
chalker,  'n'  I'm  flat.  I'm  lookin'  fur  a 
job/ 

"He  sizes  me  up  fur  quite  a  while. 

'Well,'  he  says  at  last,  'I  guess  if 
they  trim  you  they'll  earn  it.  Go  down 
two  blocks,  then  half  a  block  to  your 
right  and  take  a  squint  at  the  saloon 


A  TIP  IN  TIME  167 

with    the    buffalo   head    over    the   bar.' 

"I  finds  the  saloon  easy  enough. 

"  'Make  it  a  tall  one,'  I  says  to  the  bar- 
keep. 

"While  I'm  lappin'  up  the  drink,  a  guy 
walks  in  'n'  goes  through  a  door  at  the 
other  end  of  the  booze  parlor. 

"  'Where  does  that  door  go  to?'  I  says 
to  the  barkeep. 

'  'It's  nothin'  but  an  exit,'  he  says. 

"  'That's  right  in  my  line,'  I  says. 
'I'll  take  a  chance  at  it.' 

"When  I  opens  the  door  I  hears  a 
telegraph  machine  goin'. 

"  'Just  like  mother  used  to  make,'  I 
says  out  loud,  'n'  follows  down  a  dark 
hall  to  the  poolroom. 

"I  watches  the  New  Awlins  entries 
chalked  up  'n'  I  sees  a  hoss  called  Tea 
Kettle  in  the  third  race.  Now  this  Tea 
Kettle  ain't  a  bad  pup.  He's  owned  by 
a  couple  of  wise  Ikes  who  never  let  him 
win  till  the  odds  are  right.  Eddie  Mur- 


168  BLISTER  JONES 

phy  has  this  hoss  V  Duckfoot  Johnson's 
swipin'  him.' 

'  *I  wish  I  knew  what  they're  doin' 
with  that  Tea  Kettle  to-day,'  I  says  to 
myself,  when  I've  looked  'em  all  over. 

"I've  been  settin'  there  fur  quite  a 
while  when  a  nigger  comes  in.  I  don't 
pay  no  attention  to  him  at  first,  but  I 
happen  to  see  him  fish  a  telegram  out  of 
his  pocket  'n'  look  at  it. 

'That  ole  nigger's  got  some  dope,'  I 
says  to  myself.  Til  amble  over  'n'  try 
to  kid  it  out  of  him.' 

"I  mosies  over  to  where  he's  settin'. 
He  puts  the  wire  in  his  pocket  when  he 
sees  me  comin'.  I  sets  down  beside  him 
'n'  goes  to  readin'  the  paper.  Pretty 
soon  I  folds  up  the  paper  'n'  looks  at 
the  board. 

"That  Tea  Kettle  might  come 
through,'  I  says  to  the  ole  nigger. 

'  'Dat  ain'  likely,'  he  says.  'He  ain' 
won  fo'  a  coon's  aige.' 


A  TIP  IN  TIME  169 

"  'I  talks  to  his  swipe  not  very  long 
ago,'  I  says,  *  V  he  tells  me  he's  good.' 

"The  ole  nigger  looks  at  me  hard. 

'Whar  does  you  hoi'  dis  convahsa- 
tion  at?'  he  says. 

"  'Sheepshead,'  I  says. 

"  'Does  you  reccomember  de  name  ob 
de  swipe?'  says  the  ole  nigger. 

"  'Sure!'  I  says,  'I've  knowed  him  all 
my  life!  His  name  is  Duckfoot  Johnson.' 

"  'Yes,  suh!'  he  says.  'Yes,  suh — an' 
what  mought  yo'  name  be?' 

"  'Blister  Jones,'  I  says. 

"  'Why,  man!'  he  says,  'I've  heard  ob 
you  frequen'ly.  Ma  name  am  Johnson. 
Duckfoot  is  ma  boy;  hyars  a  tellegam 
fum  him!' 

"He  pulls  out  the  wire.  'T.  K.  in  the 
third,'  it  says.  I  looks  up  at  the  board 
— Tea  Kettle's  twelve-to-one. 

"I  goes  out  of  that  poolroom  on  the 
jump  'n'  runs  all  the  way  to  the  hotel. 
The  chicken  ain't  in  her  room.  I  falls 


170  BLISTER  JONES 

down-stairs  'n'  looks  all  around — nothin' 
doin'.  All  of  a  sudden  I  sees  her  in  the 
telephone  booth. 

'  'Gimme    that    six    bones    quick!'   I 
says  when  I've  got  the  glass  door  open. 
She  puts  her  hand  over  the  phone. 
'  'Here,  it's  in  my  bag/  she  says. 
"I  grabs  the  bag  'n'  beats  it.    I  gets 
the  change  out  on  my  way  back  to  the 
poolroom.     The  third  race  is  still  open, 
'n'  I  gets  ten  bucks  straight  'n'  two  to 
show  on  Tea  Kettle.     Then  I  goes  over 
where  ole  man  Johnson's  settin'. 

'Whar  does  you  go  so  quick  like?' 
he  says. 

1  'I'm  after  some  coin,'  I  says,  tryin' 
to  ketch  my  breath.  'I've  took  a  shot  at 
the  Tea  Kettle  hoss.' 

'I  has  bet  on  him,'  he  says,  'to  ma 
fullest  reso'ses.' 

'  'How  much  you  got  on?'  I  says. 

'Foh  dollahs,'  says  ole  man  Johnson. 
"Just    then    the    telegraph    begins    to 
click. 


A  TIP  IN  TIME  171 

"They're  off  at  New  Orle-e-e-ns !' 
sings  the  operator.  'King  Ja-a-ames 
first!  Eldorado-o-o  second!  Anvil-1-1 
third!' 

"The  telegraph  keeps  a  stutterin'  'n' 
a  stutterin'. 

'Eldorado-o-o  at  the  quarter  a  length ! 
Anvil-1-1  second  a  length !  King  Ja-a-ames 
third!'  sings  the  operator. 

"I  looks  at  ole  man  Johnson.  He 
looks  at  me. 

'Eldorado-o-o  at  the  half  by  three 
lengths!  Anvil-1-1  second  by  two  lengths! 
King  Ja-a-ames  third!'  sings  the  op- 
erator. 

"I  looks  at  ole  man  Johnson.  He 
don't  look  at  me.  He  looks  up  at  the 
ceilin'  'n'  his  lips  is  goin'  like  he's  pray- 
in'.  Me?  I'm  wipin'  the  sweat  off  my 
face. 

1  'Eldorado-o-o  in  the  stretch  a  half 
a  length!'  sings  the  operator.  'Anvil-1-1 
second  a  nose!  Te-e-a  Kettle  third  and 
coming  fast!' 


172  BLISTER  JONES 

"If  I  gets  a  shock  from  that  telegraph 
wire  I  don't  jump  any  higher. 

"  'Howdy,  howdy!  He's  boilin  now,' 
yells  ole  man  Johnson  loud  enough  to 
bust  your  ear. 

"Then  that  cussed  telegraph  stops 
right  off. 

'Wire  trouble  at  New  Orleans,'  says 
the  operator. 

"I  sure  hopes  I  never  spends  no  more 
half-hours  like  I  does  then  waitin'  fur 
the  New  Awlins  message.  I  thinks 
every  minute  ole  man  Johnson's  goin'  to 
croak  if  it  don't  come  soon.  In  about 
ten  years  the  telegraph  begins  to  work 
again. 

'The  result  at  New  Orle-e-ens!'  sings 
the  operator.  'Te-e-ea  Kettle  wins  by 
five  lengths!  Eldo— ' 

"But  ole  man  Johnson  lets  out  such 
a  whoop  I  don't  hear  who  finishes  second 
'n'  third. 

"I  hustles  up  to  the  chicken's  room 
when  I'm  back  to  the  hotel.  The  tran- 


A  TIP  IN  TIME  173 

som's  open  when  I  gets  to  the  door  'n' 
I  hears  a  guy  talkin'. 

'  'Don't  misunderstand  me,'  he's  say- 
in'.  'You  know  perfectly  the  money's 
nothing  to  me,  but  why  should  I  cut  my 
own  throat?  If  you'll  go  West  instead  of 
East,  everything  I  have  is  yours!' 

'  'I  don't  misunderstand  you,'  says 
the  chicken's  voice.  'I  have  you  sized 
up  to  a  dot.  I've  met  hundreds  like 
you!9 

"I  knocks  on  the  door. 

1  'Come,'  says  the  chicken,  'n'  I  walks 
in.  She's  standin'  with  the  table  be- 
tween her  'n'  a  swell-lookin'  guy. 

1  'Mr.  Chandler,'  she  says.  'Let  me 
introduce  you  to  my  brother.' 

E  'How  do  you  do?'  says  the  swell  guy. 
'You  have  a  charming  sister.' 

'  'She's  a  great  kid,'  I  says. 

'You  don't  look  much  alike,'  says 
the  swell  guy. 

f  'She's  not  my  full  sister,'  I  says. 
'Our  mothers  weren't  the  same.' 


174  BLISTER  JONES 

"The  chicken  coughs  a  couple  of  times. 
'That  explains  it,'  says  the  swell  guy. 

'  'Now/  I  says  to  him,  'I  hate  to  tie  a 
can  to  one  of  sis's  friend,  but  she's  goin' 
East  at  six  o'clock,  'n'  she's  got  to  pack 
her  duds.' 

'  'Oh,  Blister,  am  I?'  says  the  chicken. 
'Yep,  I  hears  from  auntie,'   I  says, 
pullin'  out  the  roll  'n'  layin*  it  on  the 
table. 

"The  chicken  gives  a  shriek,  'n'  starts 
to  hug  me  right  in  front  of  the  swell  guy. 

e  'I  seem  to  be  dee  tro,'  says  he,  'n' 
backs  out  the  door. 

'  'Where  did  you  get  the  money?'  says 
the  chicken,  countin'  the  roll.  'Why! 
There's  over  a  hundred  here!' 

"I   takes   fifty   bucks   fur  myself,   'n' 
hands  her  the  rest. 

'  'I  cops  it  at  a  poolroom,'  I  says. 
'A  ten-to-one  shot  comes  through  fur 
me.  Now  get  busy.  I'll  send  fur  your 
trunk  in  ten  minutes.' 


A  TIP  IN  TIME  175 

"The  chicken  won't  hear  of  ridin*  in 
a  street-car,  so  we  takes  a  cab  like  a 
couple  of  Trust  maggots. 

£  Til  buy  your  ticket  'n'  check  your 
trunk  fur  you/  I  says,  when  we  get  to 
the  station.  *  Where  do  you  want  to  go? 
New  York?' 

'  'Anywhere  you  say,'  she  says.     .     . 

"I'm  standin'  there  lookin'  at  her, 
lettin'  this  sink  into  my  bean,  'n'  she 
begins  to  get  red. 

"  'Don't  stand  there  gawking  at  me!' 
she  says,  stampin'  her  foot.  'Say  some- 
thing!' 

:  'How  about  this  St.  Louis  guy?'  I 
says.  'With  all  his — ' 

'  'Oh,  he  was  only  a  Johnny,'  she  says. 

"  'How  about  De  Mott?'  I  says. 
'Ugh!'  she  says,  makin'  a  face. 

"I  don't  say  nothin'  after  that  till  I 
has  it  all  thought  out.  The  start  looks 
awful  good,  but  I  begins  to  weaken 
when  I  thinks  of  the  finish. 


176  BLISTER  JONES 

"  'You  act  just  suffocated  with  pleas- 
ure,' says  the  chicken.  But  I  don't  pay 
no  attention. 

"  'You'll  be  lucky  if  you  gets  a  job 
swipin'  fur  your  eats  when  you  hit  New 
Awlins,'  I  says  to  myself.  'Wouldn't 
you  look  immense  with  a  doll  on  your 
staff?' 

"  'Now,  listen,'  I  says  to  her,  'how 
long  is  this  here  panic  goin'  to  last?' 

"  'You  can  search  me,'  she  says. 

"  'Well,  how  long  is  this  hundred  goin' 
to  last?'  I  says. 

"  'Not  long,'  she  says. 

"  'That's  the  answer,'  I  says.  'Now, 
you  hop  a  deep  sea  goin'  rattler  fur 
New  York  while  the  hoppin'  's  good.' 

"  'But,  Blister,'  she  says,  'at  New 
Orleans  you  could  win  lots  of  money — 
think  how  much  you've  made  already — 
and  I  could  go  to  the  races  every  day!' 

"  Turget  it,'  I  says.  'You  think 
you're  a  wise  girl.  WThy,  you  ain't  noth- 


A  TIP  IN  TIME  177 

in'  but  a  child !  A  break  like  I  has  to-day 
don't  come  but  seldom.  If  I  cops  the 
coin  easy,  like  you  figgers,  why  am  I 
chambermaid  to  two  dogs  in  a  bum  show 
at  twenty-five  per?  Now  slip  me  the 
price  of  a  ticket  to  New  York,'  I  says,  'or 
I  goes  'n'  buys  it  out  of  my  own  roll,  'n' 
then  I  ain't  got  enough  left  to  get  to 
New  Awlins.' 

"She  don't  say  nothin'  more,  but  hands 
me  the  dough.  I  buys  her  ticket  Jn' 
checks  her  trunk  fur  her.  She  keeps  real 
quiet  till  her  rattler's  ready.  I  kisses 
her  good-by  when  they  calls  the  train 
fur  New  York,  V  still  she  don't  say 
nothin'. 

"  'What's  on  your  mind,  girlie?'  I  says. 

"  'Nothing  much,'  she  says.  'Only 
I'm  letter  perfect  in  the  turnin'-down 
act,  but  when  it's  the  other  way — I  ain't 
up  in  my  lines.' J  .  .  . 

Blister  waved  to  a  waiter  and  I  saw 
there  was  to  be  no  more. 


178  BLISTER  JONES 

"Did    you    ever    see   her    again?"  I 
inquired. 

"Now   you're   askin'   questions,"  said 
Blister. 


TRES  JOLIE 

THE  hot  inky  odors  of  a  newspaper 
plant  took  me  by  the  throat  during 
my  progress  in  the  whiny  elevator  to  the 
third  floor. 

Before  attacking  the  day's  editorial  I 
tried  to  decide  whether  it  was  the  nerve 
flicking  clash  of  the  linotypes,  the  peck- 
ing chatter  of  the  typewriters,  or  the 
jarring  rumble  of  the  big  cylinder  presses 
that  was  taking  the  life  out  of  my  work. 
I  was  impartial  in  this,  but  gave  it  up. 

And  then  a  letter  was  dropped  on  the 
desk  before  me,  and  I  recognized  in  the 
penciled  address  upon  the  envelope  the 
unformed  hand  of  Blister  Jones. 

"Dear  Friend,"  the  letter  began,  and 
somehow  the  ache  behind  my  eyes  died 
out  as  I  read.  'I  guess  you  are  thinking 
me  dead  by  this  time  on  account  of  not 

179 


180  BLISTER  JONES 

hearing  from  me  sooner  in  answer  to 
yours.  Well,  this  is  to  show  you  I  am 
alive  and  kicking.  I  guess  you  have 
read  how  good  the  mare  is  doing.  She  is 
a  good  mare,  as  good  as  her  dam.  I  had 
some  mean  luck  with  her  at  Nashville 
by  her  going  lame  for  me,  so  she  could 
not  start  in  the  big  stake,  but  she  is  O.  K. 
now.  I  note  what  you  said  about  being 
sick.  That  is  tough.  Why  don't  you 
come  to  Louisville  and  see  the  mare  run 
in  the  derby.  If  you  would  only  bet,  I 
can  give  you  a  steer  that  would  put  you 
right  and  pay  all  your  expenses.  Well, 
this  is  all  for  the  present. 
"Resp. 

"Blister  Jones. 

"P.  S.  Now,  be  sure  to  come  as  I  want 
you  to  see  the  mare.  She  is  sure  a  good 
mare." 

I  laid  the  letter  down  with  a  sigh.  The 
mare  referred  to  was  the  now  mighty 
Tres  Jolie  favorite  for  the  Kentucky 
Derby.  I  had  seen  her  once  when  a  two- 
year-old,  and  I  remembered  Blister's 
pride  as  he  told  me  she  was  to  be  placed 
in  his  hands  by  Judge  Dillon. 


TRES  JOLIE  181 

Yes,  I  would  be  glad  to  see  "the  mare," 
and  I  longed  for  the  free  sunlit  world  of 
which  she  was  a  part,  as  for  a  tonic.  But 
this  was,  of  course,  impossible.  So  long 
as  hard  undiscerning  materialism  de- 
manded editorials — editorials  I  must  fur- 
nish. 

"Damn  such  a  pen!"  I  said  aloud,  at 
its  first  scratch. 

"Quite  right!"  boomed  a  deep  voice. 
A  big  gentle  hand  fell  on  my  shoulder 
and  spun  me  away  from  the  desk.  "See 
here,"  the  voice  went  on  gruffly,  "you're 
back  too  soon.  We  can't  afford  to  take 
chances  with  you.  Get  out  of  this.  The 
cashier'll  fix  you  up.  Don't  let  me  see 
you  around  here  again  till — we  have 
better  pens,"  and  he  was  gone  before 
thanks  were  possible. 

"I'm  going  to  Churchill  Downs  to  cov- 
er the  derby  for  a  Sunday  special!"  I 
sang  to  the  sporting  editor  as  I  passed 
his  door. 


182  BLISTER  JONES 

"The  Review  of  Reviews  might  use  it!'* 
followed  me  down  the  hall,  and  I  chuckled 
as  I  headed  for  the  cashier's  desk. 

"Well,  well,  well!"  was  Blister's  greet- 
ing. "Look  who's  here!  I  seen  your  ole 
specs  shinin'  in  the  sun  clear  down  the 
line!" 

I  sniffed  luxuriously. 

"It  smells  just  the  same,"  I  said. 
"Horses,  leather  and  liniment!  Where's 
Tres  Jolie?" 

"In  the  second  stall,"  said  Blister, 
pointing.  "Wait  a  minute — I'll  have  a 
swipe  lead  her  out.  Chick!" — this  to  a 
boy  dozing  on  a  rickety  stool — "if  your 
time  ain't  too  much  took  up  holdin' 
down  that  chair,  this  gentleman  'ud  like 
to  take  a  pike  at  the  derby  entry." 

Like  a  polished  red-bronze  sword  leap- 
ing from  a  black  velvet  scabbard  the 
mare  came  out  of  her  stall  into  the  sun- 
light, the  boy  clinging  wildly  to  the  strap. 


TRES  JOLIE  188 

She  snorted,  tossed  her  glorious  head,  and 
shot  her  hind  feet  straight  for  the  sky. 

"You,  Jane,  be  a  lady  now!"  yelled 
the  boy,  trying  to  stroke  the  arching 
neck. 

"Why  does  he  call  her  Jane?"  I  asked. 

"Stable  name,"  Blister  explained. 
"Don't  get  too  close — she's  right  on 
edge!"  And  after  a  pause,  his  eyes 
shining:  "Can  you  beat  her?" 

I  shook  my  head,  speechless. 

"Neither  can  they!'9  Blister's  hand 
swept  the  two-mile  circle  of  stalls  that 
held  somewhere  within  their  big  curve — 
the  enemy. 

The  boy  at  the  mare's  head  laughed 
joyously. 

"They  ain't  got  a  chance!"  he  gloated. 

"All  right,  Chick,"  said  Blister.  "Put 
her  up!  Hold  on!"  he  corrected  sud- 
denly. "Here's  the  boss!"  And  I  be- 
came aware  of  a  throbbing  motor  be- 
hind me.  So  likewise  did  Tres  Jolie. 


184  BLISTER  JONES 

"Whoa,  Jane!  Whoa,  darling;  it's 
mammy!"  came  in  liquid  tones  from  the 
motor. 

The  rearing  thoroughbred  descended 
to  earth  with  slim  inquiring  ears  thrown 
forward,  and  I  remembered  that  Blister 
had  described  Mrs.  Dillon's  voice  as 
"good  to  listen  at." 

"Look,  Virginia,  she  knows  me!"  the 
velvet  voice  exclaimed. 

Another  voice,  rather  heavy  for  a 
woman,  but  with  a  fascinating  drawl  in 
it,  answered: 

"Perhaps  she  fancies  you  have  a  milk 
bottle  with  you.  Isn't  this  the  one  you 
and  Uncle  Jake  raised  on  a  bottle?" 

"Yass'm,  yass,  Miss  Vahginia,  dat's 
her!  Dat's  ma  Honey-bird!"  came  in 
excited  tones  from  an  ancient  negro,  who 
alighted  stiffly  from  the  motor  and  peered 
in  our  direction.  As  they  approached, 
he  held  Mrs.  Dillon  by  the  sleeve,  and 
I  realized  that  for  Uncle  Jake  the  sun 
would  never  shine  again. 


TRES  JOLIE  185 

Judge  Dillon,  a  big-boned  silent  man, 
I  had  met.  And  after  the  shower  of 
questions  poured  upon  Blister  had  abated, 
and  the  mare  had  been  gentled,  petted 
and  given  a  lump  of  sugar  with  a  final 
hug,  he  presented  me  to  his  wife. 

"My  cousin,  Miss  Goodloe,"  said  Mrs. 
Dillon,  and  I  sensed  a  mass  of  tawny 
hair  under  the  motor  veil  and  looked 
into  a  pair  of  blue  eyes  set  wide  apart 
beneath  a  broad  white  brow.  It  was  no 
time  for  details. 

It  developed  that  Miss  Goodloe  was 
from  Tennessee,  that  she  was  visiting 
the  Dillons  at  Thistle  Ridge  near 
Lexington,  and  that  she  liked  a  small 
book  of  verses  of  which  I  had  been 
guilty.  It  further  developed  that  Mrs. 
Dillon  had  talked  me  over  with  an  aunt 
of  mine  in  Cincinnati,  that  we  were 
mutually  devoted  to  Blister,  and  that 
he  had  described  me  to  her  as  "the 
most  educated  guy  allowed  loose."  This 
last  I  learned  as  Judge  Dillon  and 


186  BLISTER  JONES 

Blister  discussed  the  derby  some  dis- 
tance from  us. 

"I  feel  awed  and  diffident  in  the  pres- 
ence of  such  learning,"  said  Miss  Goodloe 
almost  sleepily.  "Why  did  I  neglect  my 
opportunities  at  Dobbs  Ferry!" 

"I  would  give  a  good  deal  to  observe 
you  when  you  felt  diffident,  Virginia," 
said  Mrs.  Dillon,  with  a  laugh  like  a 
silver  bell.  "Uncle  Jake!"  she  called, 
"we  are  going  now." 

"I  have  heard  of  Uncle  Jake,"  I  said, 
as  the  old  man  felt  his  way  toward  us. 

"Yes?"  said  Mrs.  Dillon.  "He  in- 
sisted upon  coming  to  see  the  derby." 
She  dwelt  ever  so  lightly  upon  the  verb, 
and  Uncle  Jake  caught  it. 

"No,  Miss  Sally,"  he  explained,  "dat 
am'  'zackly  what  I  mean.  Hit's  like 
dis — I  just  am  boun'  foh  to  hyah  all  de 
folks  shout  glory  when  ma  Honey-bird 
comes  home!" 

"What   if   she   ain't   in   front,    Uncle 


TRES  JOLIE  187 

Jake?"  said  Blister,  helping  the  old  man 
into  the  motor. 

"Don't  you  trifle  with  me,  boy!"  re- 
plied Uncle  Jake  severely. 

Derby  day  dawned  as  fair  as  turquoise 
sky  and  radiant  sun  could  make  it.  I 
had  slept  badly.  Until  late  the  night 
before  I  had  absorbed  a  haze  of  cigar 
smoke  and  the  talk  in  the  hotel  lobby. 
Despite  Blister's  confidence  I  had  be- 
come panicky  as  I  listened.  There  had 
been  so  much  assurance  about  several 
grave,  soft-spoken  horsemen  who  had 
felt  that  at  the  weight  the  favorite  could 
not  win. 

"Nevah  foh  a  moment,  suh,"  one 
elderly  well-preserved  Kentuckian  had 
said,  "will  I  deny  the  Dillon  mare  the 
right  to  be  the  public's  choice.  But  she 
has  nevah  met  such  a  field  of  hosses  as 
this,  suh — and  she  lacks  the  bone  to 
carry  top  weight  against  them." 


188  BLISTER  JONES 

There  had  been  many  nods  of  approval 
at  this  statement,  and  I  had  gone  to  the 
Dillon  party  for  consolation.  But  when 
I  reached  their  apartments  I  had  found 
the  judge  more  silent  than  ever,  and  Mrs. 
Dillon  as  nervous  as  myself.  Only  Miss 
Goodloe  appeared  as  usual.  Her  drawl 
was  soothingly  indolent.  She  seemed 
entirely  oblivious  of  any  tenseness  in  the 
atmosphere,  and  I  caught  myself  won- 
dering what  was  behind  those  lazy- 
lidded  blue  eyes. 

Back  in  the  lobby  once  more  I  had 
found  it  worse  than  ever — so  many 
were  against  the  favorite.  I  had  about 
decided  that  our  hopes  were  doomed, 
when  a  call  boy  summoned  me  to  the 
desk  with  the  statement,  "Gentleman  to 
see  you,  sir." 

There  I  had  found  Blister  and  I  fairly 
hugged  him  as  he  explained  that  he  had 
dropped  in  on  the  way  to  his  " joint," 
as  he  called  his  hotel. 

"Listenin*  to  the  knockers?"  he  asked, 


TRES  JOLIE  189 

reading  me  at  once.  "Furget  it — them 
ole  mint  juleps  is  dead  'n'  buried.  You'll 
go  dippy  if  you  fall  fur  that  stuff." 

"But  the  weight!"  I  gasped. 

"Say,  they've  got  you  goin'  right, 
ain't  they?"  Blister  exclaimed.  "Now 
listen!  She  can  carry  the  grand-stand 
'n'  come  home  on  the  bit!  Get  that  fixed 
in  your  nut,  'n'  then  hit  the  hay." 

"Thanks,  I  believe  I  shall,"  I  said,  and 
I  had  followed  his  advice,  though  it  was 
long  until  sleep  came  to  me. 

But  now  as  the  blue-gray  housetops 
of  Louisville  sparkled  with  tiny  points  of 
light,  and  the  window-panes  swam  with 
pink-gold  flame,  I  looked  out  over  the 
still  sleeping  city  and  laughed  aloud  at 
my  fears  of  the  night  before. 

"A  perfect  day,"  I  thought.  "The 
favorite  will  surely  win,  and  Blister  and 
Uncle  Jake  and  Mrs.  Dillon  will  be  made 
perfectly  happy.  A  beautiful  day,  and 
a  fitting  one  in  which  to  fix  the  name  of 
Tres  Jolie  among  the  equine  stars!" 


190  BLISTER  JONES 

"We  read  some  of  your  poetry  last 
night  after  you  had  gone,"  said  Mrs. 
Dillon,  as  we  waited  for  the  motor  to 
take  us  to  Churchill  Downs.  "I  liked 
it,  and  I  don't  care  for  verse  as  a  rule, 
except  Omar.  I  dote  on  The  Rubaiyat; 
don't  you?" 

"Yes,  indeed,"  I  replied.  "I  can't 
quite  swallow  his  philosophy,  but  he 
puts  it  all  so  charmingly.  Some  of  his 
pictures  are  most  alluring." 

"Do  learned  persons  ever  long  for  the 
wilderness,  and  the  bough,  and — the  other 
things?"  Miss  Goodloe  asked  innocently. 

"Quite  frequently,"   I   assured   her. 

She  affected  a  sigh  of  relief. 

"That's  such  a  help,"  she  said.  "It 
makes  them  seem  more  like  the  rest  of 
us." 

A  huge  motor-car  wheeled  from  the 
line  at  the  curb  and  glided  past  us.  A 
man  in  the  tonneau  lifted  his  hat  high 
above  his  head  as  he  saw  Judge  Dillon. 


TRfiS  JOLIE  191 

"Oh,  you  Tres  Jolie!"  he  called  with 
a  smile.  "The  best  luck  in  the  world  to 
you,  Judge!"  It  was  an  excessively  rich 
New  Yorker,  who  owned  one  of  the 
horses  about  to  run  in  the  derby. 

"Oh,  you  Rob  Roy!"  called  back 
Judge  Dillon,  also  raising  his  hat.  "The 
same  to  you,  Henry!"  And  suddenly 
there  was  a  tug  at  my  nerves,  for  I 
realized  that  this  was  the  salut  de  com- 
bat. 

But  Uncle  Jake,  his  faith  in  his  "Honey- 
bird"  unshaken  as  the  time  drew  near, 
rode  in  placid  contentment  on  the  front 
seat  as  we  sped  to  the  track.  We  passed, 
or  were  passed  by,  many  motor-cars 
from  which  came  joyous  good  wishes  as 
the  Dillons  were  recognized.  Each 
packed  and  groaning  street  car  held  some 
one  who  knew  our  party,  and  "Oh,  you 
Tres  Jolie!"  they  howled  as  we  swept  by. 
The  old  negro's  ears  drank  all  this  in. 
It  was  as  wine  to  his  spirit.  He  hummed 


192  BLISTER  JONES 

a  soft  minor  accompaniment  to  the  pur- 
ring motor,  and  leaning  forward  I  caught 
these  words: 

"Curry  a  mule  an'  curry  a  hoss, 
Keep  down  trubbul  wid  de  stable  boss !" 

"Luck  to  her,  Judge!"  called  the  man 
at  the  gates,  as  he  waved  us  through. 
"Ah've  bet  my  clothes  on  her!" 

"You'll  need  a  barrel  to  get  home  in!" 
yelled  a  voice  from  a  buggy.  "The 
Rob  Roy  hoss'll  beat  her  and  make  her 
like  it!" 

"You-all  are  from  the  East, Ah  reckon," 
we  heard  the  gateman  reply.  "Ah've 
just  got  twenty  left  that  says  we  raise 
'em  gamer  in  Kentucky  than  up  your 
way!" 

At  the  stables  we  found  Blister. 

"How   is   she?"   asked   Judge   Dillon. 

"She's  ready,"  was  the  answer.  "It's 
all  over,  but  hangin'  the  posies  on  her." 


TRES  JOLIE  193 

"Lemme  feel  dis  may  ah,"  said  Uncle 
Jake,  and  Mrs.  Dillon  guided  him  into 
the  stall. 

"I'd  like  to  give  her  one  little  nip  be- 
fore she  goes  to  the  post,  Judge,"  I 
heard  Blister  say  in  a  low  voice. 

"Not  a  drop,"  came  the  quick  reply. 
"If  she  can't  win  on  her  own  courage, 
she'll  have  to  lose." 

"Judge  Dillon  won't  stand  fur  hop — 
he  won't  even  let  you  slip  a  slug  of  booze 
into  a  ^hoss,"  Blister  had  once  told  me. 
I  had  not  altogether  understood  this  at 
the  time,  but  now  I  looked  at  the  big 
quiet  man  with  his  splendid  sportsman- 
ship, and  loved  him  for  it. 

A  roar  came  from  the  grand-stand 
across  the  center-field. 

"They're  off  in  the  first  race,"  said 
Blister.  "Put  the  saddle  on  her,  boys;" 
and  when  this  was  accomplished:  "Bring 
her  out — it's  time  to  warm  up." 

I  had  witnessed  Tres  Jolie  come  forth 


194  BLISTER  JONES 

once  before  and  I  drew  well  back,  but 
it  was  Mrs.  Dillon  who  led  the  thorough- 
bred from  the  stall.  She  was  breathing 
wonderful  words.  Her  voice  was  like 
the  cooing  of  a  dove.  Tres  Jolie  appeared 
to  listen. 

"She  don't  handle  like  that  fur  us, 
does  she,  Chick?"  said  Blister. 

"Nope,"  said  the  boy  addressed. 
"I  guess  she's  hypnotized." 

"How  do  you  do  it?"  I  inquired  of 
Mrs.  Dillon  as  she  led  the  mare  to  the 
track,  the  rest  of  us  following. 

"She's  my  precious  lamb,  and  I'm  her 
own  mammy,"  was  the  lucid  explanation. 

"Now  you  know,"  said  Blister  to  me. 
"Pete!"  he  called  to  a  boy,  approaching, 
"I  want  this  mare  galloped  a  slow  mile. 
Breeze  her  the  last  eighth.  Don't  take 
hold  of  her  any  harder 'n  you  have  to. 
Try  'n'  talk  her  back." 

"I  got  you,"  said  the  boy,  as  Blister 
threw  him  up.  Mrs.  Dillon  let  go  of  the 


TRES  JOLIE  195 

bridle.  Tres  Jolie  stood  straight  on  her 
hind  legs,  made  three  tremendous  bounds, 
and  was  gone.  We  could  see  the  boy 
fighting  to  get  her  under  control,  as  she 
sped  like  a  bullet  down  the  track. 

"I  guess  Pete  ain't  usin'  the  right 
langwige,"  said  the  boy  called  Chick, 
with  a  wide  grin. 

"Maybe  she  ain't  listenin'  good,"  added 
another  boy. 

"Cut  out  the  joshin*  'n'  get  her  blank- 
ets ready,"  said  Blister  with  a  frown. 

"I  think  we'd  better  start,"  suggested 
Judge  Dillon. 

"Aren't  you  terribly  excited?"  I  asked 
Miss  Goodloe  curiously,  as  she  walked 
cool  and  composed  by  my  side.  My 
own  heart  was  pounding. 

"Of  course,"  she  drawled. 

"This  girl  is  made  of  stone,"  I  thought. 

The  band  was  playing  Dixie  as  we 
climbed  the  steps  of  the  grand-stand, 
and  the  thousands  cheered  until  it  was 


196  BLISTER  JONES 

repeated.  Hands  were  thrust  at  the 
Dillons  from  every  side,  and  until  we 
found  our  box,  continued  shouts  of, 
"Oh,  you  Tres  Jolie!"  rose  above  the 
crash  of  the  band. 

I  had  witnessed  many  races  in  the  past 
and  been  a  part  of  many  racing  crowds 
but  never  one  like  this.  These  people 
were  Kentuckians.  The  thoroughbred 
was  part  of  their  lives  and  their  tradi- 
tions. Through  him  many  made  their 
bread.  Over  the  fairest  of  all  their  fair 
acres  he  ran,  and  save  for  their  wives 
and  children  they  loved  him  best  of  all. 

Once  each  year  for  many  years  they  had 
come  from  all  parts  of  the  smiling  blue- 
grass  country  to  watch  this  struggle  be- 
tween the  satin-coated  lords  of  speed 
that  determined  which  was  king.  This 
journey  was  like  a  pilgrimage,  and  wor- 
ship was  in  their  shining  eyes,  as  tier 
on  tier  I  scanned  their  eager  faces. 

And  now  three  things  happened.     A 


TRES  JOLIE  197 

bugle  called,  and  called  again.  The 
crowd  grew  deathly  still.  And  Mrs. 
Dillon,  in  a  voice  that  reminded  me  of 
a  frightened  child,  asked: 

"Where  is  Blister?" 

"He'll  be  here,"  said  Judge  Dillon, 
patting  her  hand.  And  even  as  a  meg- 
aphone bellowed:  "We  are  now  ready  for 
the  thirty-ninth  renewal  of  the  Kentucky 
Derby!"  Blister  squeezed  through  the 
crowd  to  the  door  of  the  box. 

He  was  a  rock  upon  which  we  im- 
mediately leaned. 

"Everything  all  right?"  I  asked. 

"Fine  as  silk,"  he  said  cheerfully, 
dropping  into  a  seat.  "You'll  see  a 
race  hoss  run  to-day!  Here  they  come! 
She's  in  front!"  And  held  to  a  proud  se- 
dateness  by  their  tiny  riders,  the  con- 
tenders in  the  derby  filed  through  the 
paddock-gate. 

At  the  head  of  these  leashed  falcons 
was  a  haughty,  burnished,  slender-legged 


198  BLISTER  JONES 

beauty — the  proudest  of  them  all.  Her 
neck  was  curving  to  the  bit  and  she 
seemed  to  acknowledge  with  a  gracious 
bow  the  roar  of  acclamation  that  greeted 
her.  She  bore  the  number  1  upon  her 
satin  side,  and  dropping  my  eyes  to  my 
program  I  read: 

1         Troc    Trklio b-  m-  by   Hamilton — dam   Alberta. 

1.       ires»  J011C      J0hn  C.  Dillon,  Lexington,  Kentucky. 

(Manders — blue  and  gold.) 

"What  sort  of  jockey  is  Manders?" 
I  asked  Blister. 

"Good  heady  boy,"  was  the  reply. 

"Virginia,  oh,  Virginia,  isn't  she  a 
lamb?"  gasped  Mrs.  Dillon. 

"She's  a  stuck-up  miss,"  said  Miss 
Goodloe  in  an  even  tone,  and  I  almost 
hated  her. 

Number  2  I  failed  to  see  as  they  pa- 
raded past. 

Number  3  was  a  gorgeous  black,  with 
eyes  of  fire,  powerful  in  neck  and  should- 
ers, and  with  a  long  driving  hip.  He 
was  handsome  as  the  devil  and  awe-in- 


TRES  JOLIE  199 

spiring.  Applause  from  the  stands  like- 
wise greeted  him,  though  it  was  feeble 
to  the  howl  that  had  met  the  favorite. 

"There's  the  one  we've  got  to  beat," 
Blister  stated. 

"Good  horse,"  said  Judge  Dillon  quiet- 

ly. 


3Pr»K    P/VB-      bl.  s.  by  Tempus  Fugit  —  dam  Mari- 
•      rton    Rvy       gold.      Henry  L.  Whitley,  New  York 
City.     (Dawson  —  green  and  white.) 

I  read.  I  followed  him  with  my  eyes 
and  wished  him  somewhere  else.  He 
looked  so  overpowering  —  he  and  the 
millions  behind  him.  .  .  . 

At  last,  a  quarter  of  a  mile  away,  they 
halted  in  a  gorgeous  shifting  group.  And 
the  taut  elastic  webbing  of  the  barrier 
that  was  to  hold  them  from  their  flight 
a  little  longer,  was  stretched  before  them. 

They  surged  against  it  like  a  parti- 
colored wave,  and  then  receding,  surged 
again,  but  always  the  narrow  webbing 
held  them  back.  I  found  the  blue  and 
gold.  It  was  almost  without  motion  — 


200  BLISTER  JONES 

it  did  not  shift  and  whirl  with  the  rest. 

"Ain't  she  the  grand  actor?"  said 
Blister  with  delight.  "The  best  mannered 
thing  at  the  barrier  ever  I  saw." 

Then  for  a  moment  I  lost  the  colors 
that  had  held  my  gaze.  They  were 
blotted  out  and  crowded  back  by  other 
colors.  In  that  instant  the  wave  con- 
quered. It  grew  larger  and  larger.  It 
was  coming  like  the  wind.  But  where 
was  the  blue  and  gold? 

I  was  answered  by  a  heaven-cleaving 
shout  that  changed  in  the  same  breath 
to  a  despairing  groan.  It  was  as  though 
a  giant  had  been  stricken  deep  while 
roaring  forth  his  battle-cry.  The  thou- 
sands had  seen  what  I  had  missed — 
their  hopes  in  an  instant  were  gone.  In 
the  stillness  that  followed,  a  harsh  whis- 
per reached  me. 

"She's  left!  She's  left!"  Then  an  un- 
canny laugh.  The  rock  had  broken. 

The  wave  was  greeted  by  silence.     A 


TRES  JOLIE  201 

red  bay  thundered  in  the  lead.  Then 
came  a  demon,  hard  held,  with  open 
mouth,  and  number  3  shone  from  his 
raven  side.  Followed  a  flying  squadron 
all  packed  together,  their  hoofs  rolling 
like  drums.  And  then  came  aching 
lengths,  and  my  eyes  filled  with  tears 
and  something  gripped  my  heart  and 
squeezed  it  as  Tres  Jolie,  skimming 
like  an  eager  swallow,  fled  past  undaunt- 
ed by  that  hopeless  gap. 

"Whar  my  baby  at?"  asked  Uncle  Jake. 
He  had  heard  the  groan  and  the  silence, 
and  fear  was  in  his  voice. 

"Oh— Uncle  Jake—"  began  Mrs.  Dil- 
lon. "They — "  her  voice  broke. 

"Dey  ain'  left  her  at  de  post?  Doan' 
tell  me  dat,  Miss  Sally!" 

Mrs.  Dillon  nodded  as  though  to  eyes 
that  saw.  Uncle  Jake  seemed  to  feel  it. 

"How  fah  back?  How  fah  back?" 
he  demanded. 

"She  ain't  got  a  chance,  Uncle  Jake!" 


202  BLISTER  JONES 

said  Blister,  and  dropped  his  head  on 
his  arm  lying  along  the  railing. 

"How  fah  back?"  insisted  the  old 
negro. 

Blister  raised  his  head  and  gazed. 

"Twenty  len'ths,"  he  said,  and  dropped 
it  again. 

"Doan*  you  fret,  Miss  Sally,"  Uncle 
Jake  encouraged.  "She'll  beat  'em  yet!" 

"Not  this  time,  old  man,"  said  Judge 
Dillon  very  gently.  He  was  tearing  his 
program  carefully  into  little  pieces,  with 
big  shaking  hands.  .  .  . 

The  horses  were  around  the  first  turn, 
and  the  battle  up  the  back  stretch  had 
begun.  The  red  bay  was  still  leading. 

"Mandarin  in  front!"  said  some  one 
behind  us.  "Rob  Roy  second  and 
running  easy — the  rest  nowhere!" 

"Jes'  you  wait!"  called  Uncle  Jake. 

"You  ole  fool  nigger!"  came  Blister's 
muffled  voice. 

Even  at  that  distance  I  could  have 


TRES  JOLIE  203 

told  which  one  was  last.  The  same 
effortless  floating  stride  I  had  noticed 
long  ago  was  hers  as  Tres  Jolie,  foot 
by  foot,  ate  up  the  gap.  At  the  far  turn 
she  caught  the  stragglers  and  one  by  one 
she  cut  them  down. 

"Oh,  gallant  spirit!"  I  thought.  "If 
they  had  given  you  but  half  a  chance!" 

I  lost  her  among  a  melee  of  horses, 
on  the  turn,  as  the  leader  swung  into 
the  stretch.  It  was  the  same  red  bay, 
but  now  the  boy  on  the  black  horse 
moved  his  hands  forward  a  little  and 
his  mount  came  easily  to  the  leader's 
side.  There  was  a  short  struggle  be- 
tween them  and  the  bay  fell  back. 

"Mandarin's  done!"  cried  the  voice 
behind  us.  "Rob  Roy  on  the  bit!" 

"I  might  have  known  it!"  I  thought 
bitterly.  "He  looked  it  all  along." 

Then  a  gentle  buzzing  sprang  up  like 
a  breeze.  It  was  a  whisper  that  grew  to 
a  muttering,  and  then  became  a  rumble 


204  BLISTER  JONES 

and  at  last  one  delirious  roar.  The  giant 
had  recovered,  and  his  mighty  cry 
brought  me  to  my  feet,  my  heart  in  my 
throat — for  "Tres  Jolie"  he  roared  .  .  . 
and  coming!  .  .  .  coming!!  .  .  . 
coming!!!  ...  I  saw  the  blue  and 
gold! 

A  maniac  rose  among  us  and  flung  his 
fists  above  his  head.  He  called  upon 
his  gods — and  then  that  magic  name — 
"Tres  Jolie"  he  shrieked:  "Oh,  Baby 
Doll!'"  It  was  Blister — and  I  marveled. 

I  had  seen  him  stand  and  lose  his  all 
without  a  sign  of  feeling.  But  now  he 
raved  and  cursed  and  prayed  and  plead 
with  his  "Girlie!"— his  "Baby  Doll!", 
and  with  the  last  atom  of  her  strength 
his  sweetheart  answered  the  call. 

She  reached,  heaven  alone  knows  how, 
the  flank  of  the  flying  black,  and  inch 
by  inch  she  crept  along  that  flank  until 
they  struggled  head  to  head. 

"Oh,  you  black  dog!"  howled  Blister, 


TRES  JOLIE  205 

wild  triumph  in  his  voice.  "You've  got 
to  beat  a  race  hoss  now!" 

As  though  he  heard,  the  black  horse 
flattened  to  his  work.  Almost  to  the 
end  he  held  her  there,  eye  meeting  eye. 
The  task  was  just  beyond  him.  Even 
as  they  shot  under  the  wire,  he  faltered. 
But  it  was  very  close,  and  the  shrieking 
hysterical  grand-stand  grew  still  and 
waited. 

I  glanced  at  Blister.  He  was  leaning 
forward,  almost  crouching,  his  face  ashen, 
his  eyes  on  the  number  board. 

Then  slowly  the  numbers  swung  into 
view,  and  "1,  3,  7"  I  read. 

There  was  a  roar  like  the  falling  of 
ten  thousand  forest  trees.  These  words 
flashed  through  my  mind.  "We'll  know 
about  her  when  she  goes  the  route,  car- 
ry in'  weight  against  class."  .... 
Yes,  we  knew  about  her — now! 

I  saw  Mrs.  Dillon's  lips  move  at 
Uncle  Jake's  ear.  He  raised  his  sightless 


206  BLISTER  JONES 

eyes  to  the  sky,  his  head  nodding. 
It  was  as  though  he  visioned  paradise 
and  found  it  good  indeed. 

I  saw  Blister's  face  turn  from  gray  to 
red,  from  red  to  purple.  The  tenseness 
went  out  of  his  body,  and  suddenly  he 
was  gone,  fighting  his  way  through  the 
crowd  toward  the  steps. 

I  saw  Judge  Dillon's  big  arm  gather 
in  his  trembling  wife,  and  he  held  her 
close  while  the  heavens  rocked. 

These  things  I  saw  through  a  blur, 
and  then  I  felt  Miss  Goodloe  sway  at 
my  side.  She  clutched  at  the  railing, 
missed  it  and  sank  slowly  into  her  seat. 
I  but  glimpsed  a  white  face  in  which 
the  eyes  had  changed  from  blue  to  violet, 
when  it  was  covered  by  two  slender 
gloved  hands. 

"Are  you  ill?"  I  called,  as  I  bent  above 
her. 

She  shook  her  head. 

"It  was  too  much,"  I  barely  heard. 


TRES  JOLIE  807 

I  stood  bewildered,  and  then  my 
stupid  mind  cast  out  a  soulless  image 
that  it  held  and  fixed  the  true  one  there. 

"I  rarely  make  this  kind  of  a  fool  of 
myself,"  she  said  at  last. 

"That  I  can  quite  believe,"  I  replied, 
smiling  down  at  her.  She  returned  the 
smile  with  one  that  held  a  fine  good 
comradeship,  and  we  seemed  to  have 
known  each  other  long.  .  .  . 

A  crowd  had  packed  themselves  before 
the  stall.  As  we  reached  it  Blister  ap- 
peared in  the  doorway. 

"Get  back!  Get  back!"  he  ordered, 
and  pointing  to  the  panting  mare:  "Don't 
you  think  she's  earned  a  right  to  breath?" 

The  crowd  fell  away,  except  one  rather 
shabby  little  old  man. 

"No  one  living,"  said  he,  "appreciates 
what  she  has  done  moh  than  myself,  suh, 
but  I  desiah  to  lay  ma  hand  on  a  real 
race  mayah  once  moh  befoh  I  die!" 


208  BLISTER  JONES 

Blister's  face  softened. 

"Come  on  in,  Mr.  Sanford,"  he  in- 
vited. "Why  you  win  the  derby  once, 
didn't  you?" 

"Thank  you,  suh.  Yes,  suh,  many 
yeahs  ago,"  said  the  little  old  man,  and 
removing  his  battered  hat  he  entered 
the  stall,  his  white  head  bare. 

Mrs.  Dillon's  face  as  she,  too,  entered 
the  stall  was  tear-wet  and  alight  with 
a  great  tenderness. 

A  boy  dodged  his  way  to  where  we 
stood.  His  face  and  the  front  of  his 
blue  and  gold  jacket  were  encrusted 
with  dirt. 

"You  shoe-maker!"  was  Blister's  scorn- 
ful greeting. 

"Honest  to  Gawd  it  wasn't  my  fault, 
Judge,"  the  boy  piped,  sniffling.  "Hon- 
est to  Gawd  it  wasn't!  That  sour- 
headed  bay  stud  of  Henderson's  swung 
his  ugly  butt  under  the  mare's  nose,  'n* 
just  as  I'm  takin'  back  so  the  dog  won't 


TRES  JOLIE  209 

kick  a  leg  off  her,  that  mutt  of  a  starter 
lets  'em  go!" 

"All  right,  sonny,"  said  the  judge. 
"You  rode  a  nice  race  when  you  did  get 
away." 

"Much  obliged,  sir.  I  just  wanted 
to  tell  you,"  said  the  boy,  and  he  disap- 
peared in  the  crowd  as  Judge  Dillon 
joined  those  in  the  stall. 

I  stayed  outside  watching  the  group 
about  Tres  Jolie,  and  never  had  my  heart 
gone  out  to  people  more.  Deeply  I 
wished  to  keep  them  in  my  life.  .  .  I 
wondered  if  we  would  ever  meet  again. 
But  pshaw! — I  was  nothing  to  them. 
Well,  I  would  go  back  to  Cincinnati 
when  they  left  in  the  morning.  .  .  . 

"Can't  we  have  you  for  a  week  at 
Thistle  Ridge?"  Mrs.  Dillon  stood  look- 
ing up  at  me. 

"Why,  that's  very  kind—"  I  stam- 
mered. 

"The    north    pasture    is    a    wilderness 


210       ,      BLISTER  JONES 

this  year,  the  loaf  of  bread,  the  jug  of 
wine  and  the  bough  are  waiting.  You 
can,  of  course,  furnish  your  own  verses." 

"The  picture  is  almost  perfect,"  I 
said,  and  glanced  at  Miss  Goodloe. 

"Virginia,  dear — "  prompted  Mrs.  Dil- 
lon. 

"As  a  thou — I  always  strive  to  please,*' 
drawled  that  blue-eyed  young  person. 

Oh,  that  I  had  been  warned  by  her 
words ! 

Our  purring  flight  to  Louisville,  when 
the  day  was  done,  became  a  triumph 
that  mocked  the  dead  Caesars.  Of  this 
the  old  negro  on  the  front  seat  missed 
little.  He  was  singing,  softly  singing. 
And  leaning  forward  I  listened. 

"Curry  a  mule  an'  curry  a  hoss, 
Keep  down  trubbul  wid  de  stable  boss!" 

sang  Uncle  Jake. 


OLE  MAN  SANFORD 

YOU  happen  to  notice  a  old 
duck  that  comes  to  the  stalls  at 
Loueyville  just  after  the  derby?"  asked 
Blister. 

"Was  his  name  Sanford,  and  did  he 
wish  to  pat  the  mare?"  I  asked  in  turn. 

"That's  him,"  said  Blister.  "Ole  man 
Sanford.  It  ain't  likely  you  ever  heard 
of  him,  but  everybody  on  the  track 
knows  him,  if  they  ever  hit  the  Louey- 
ville meetin'.  They  never  charge  him 
nothin'  to  get  into  the  gates.  He  ain't 
a  owner  no  more,  but  way  back  there 
before  I'm  alive  he  wins  the  Kentucky 
Derby  with  Sweet  Alice,  V  from  what 
I  hears  she  was  a  grand  mare.  Ole  man 
Sanford  breeds  Sweet  Alice  hisself.  In 
them  days  he's  got  a  big  place  not  far 
from  Loueyville.  They  tell  me  his  folks 


212  BLISTER  JONES 

get  the  land  original  from  the  govament, 
when  it's  nothin'  but  timber.  I  hears 
once,  but  it  don't  hardly  sound  reason- 
able, that  they  hands  over  a  half  a  million 
acres  to  the  first  ole  man  Sanford,  who 
was  a  grandaddy  of  this  ole  man  Sanford. 
If  that's  so,  Uncle  Sam  was  more  of  a 
sport  in  them  days  than  since. 

"I  don't  know  how  they  pry  it  all 
loose  from  him,  but  one  mawnin*  ole 
man  Sanford  wakes  up  clean  as  a  whistle. 
They've  copped  the  whole  works — he 
ain't  got  nothin'.  So  he  goes  to  keepin' 
books  fur  a  whisky  house  in  Loueyville, 
'n'  he  holds  the  job  down  steady  fur 
twenty  years.  The  only  time  he  quits 
pen-pushin'  is  when  they  race  at  Churchill 
Downs.  From  the  first  minute  the 
meetin'  opens  till  get-away  day  comes 
he's  bright  eyes  at  the  rat  hole.  He 
don't  add  up  no  figgers  fur  nobody  then. 
He  just  putters  around  the  track.  He's 
doped  out  as  sort-a  harmless  by  the 
bunch. 


OLE  MAN  SANFORD         213 

"After  the  Tres  Jolie  mare  wins  the 
derby  fur  me,  ole  man  Sanford  makes 
my  stalls  his  hang-out.  I  ain't  kickin', 
all  he  wants  to  do  is  to  look  at  the  mare 
V  chew  the  rag  about  her.  That  satis- 
fies him  completely. 

'  'Of  all  the  hosses,  suh,  who  have 
been  a  glory  to  our  state,'  he  says,  'but 
one  otheh  had  as  game  a  heart  as  this 
superb  creature.  I  refer  to  Sweet  Alice, 
suh — a  race  mayah  of  such  quality  that 
the  world  marveled.  Not  in  a  boastful 
manner,  suh,  but  with  propah  humility, 
let  me  say  that  I  had  the  honor  to  breed 
and  raise  Sweet  Alice,  and  that  she  bore 
my  colors  when  she  won  the  tenth  re- 
newal of  our  great  classic.' 

"He  tells  this  to  everybody  that  comes 
past  the  stalls,  'n'  it  ain't  long  till  he 
begins  to  bring  people  around  to  look 
the  mare  over.  From  that  he  gets  to 
watchin'  how  the  swipes  take  care  of  her. 
Pretty  soon  he  begins  to  call  'em  if  things 
ain't  done  to  suit  him. 


214  BLISTER  JONES 

'  'Boy,'  he'll  say,  'that  bandage  is 
tighter  than  I  like  to  see  it.  Always 
allow  the  tendon  a  little  play — do  not 
impaieh  the  suhculation.' 

"The  boys  eat  this  stuff  up — it  tickles 
'em.  They  treat  him  respectful  'n'  do 
what  he  tells  'em. 

"  'Everything  O.  K.  to-day,  sir?'  they'll 
say. 

"Ole  man  Sanford  don't  tumble  they're 
kiddin*  him. 

'  'Ah  have  nothing  to  complain  of,' 
he  says. 

"It  ain't  long  till  he's  overseein'  my 
whole  string  of  hosses,  just  like  he  owns 
'em.  Man,  he  sure  does  enjoy  hisself! 
He  won't  trade  places  with  August  Bel- 
mont. 

"I'm  gettin'  Trampfast  ready  fur  a 
nice  little  killin'.  He's  finished  away 
back  in  two  starts,  but  he  runs  both 
races  without  a  pill.  This  hoss  is  a  dope. 
He's  been  on  it  fur  two  seasons.  He 


OLE  MAN  SANFORD         215 

won't  beat  nothin'  without  his  hop.  But 
when  he  gets  just  the  right  mixture  under 
his  hide  he  figgers  he  can  beat  any  kind 
of  a  hoss,  'n'  he's  about  right  at  that. 
He  furgets  all  about  his  weak  heart  with 
the  nutty  stuff  in  him.  He  thinks  he's 
a  ragin'  lion.  He  can't  wait  to  go  out 
there  'n'  eat  up  them  kittens  that's  goin' 
to  start  against  him. 

"One  mawnin'  my  boy  Pete  takes  the 
Trampfast  hoss  out  fur  a  trial. 

"  'If  he'll  go  six  furlongs  in  about 
fourteen,'  I  says  to  Pete,  'he's  right.  If 
he  tries  to  loaf  on  you,  shake  him  up; 
but  if  he's  doin'  his  work  nice,  let  him 
suit  hisself  'n'  keep  the  bat  off  him.  I 
want  to  see  what  he'll  do  on  his  own.' 

:  'I  think  he'll  perform  to-day,'  says 
Pete.  'He's  felt  real  good  to  me  fur  the 
last  week.' 

"Ole  man  Sanford's  standin'  there 
listenin'.  When  the  work-out  starts  he 
ketches  the  time  with  a  big  gold  stop- 


216  BLISTER  JONES 

dock  that  he  fishes  out  of  his  shiny  ole 
vest.  The  clock's  old,  too — it  winds 
with  a  key — but  at  that  she's  a  peach! 
'That's  a  fine  clock,'  I  says  to  him. 
He  don't  take  his  eyes  off  the  hoss  comin' 
round  the  bend. 

'  'He's  running  with  freedom  and  well 
within  himself,'  he  says.  'That  quatah 
was  in  twenty-foh  flat!  Yes,  suh,  this 
watch  was  presented  to  me  by  membahs 
of  the  Breedah's  Association  to  com- 
memorate the  victory  of  Sweet  Alice  in 
the  tenth  renewal  of  our  classic.  You 
have  heard  me  speak  of  Sweet  Alice?' 

"  'Yes,  you  told  me  about  her,  Mr. 
Sanford,'  I  says.  'That's  sure  some  clock.' 

"  'If  he  does  not  faltah  in  the  stretch, 
suh,'  says  ole  man  Sanford,  'I  will  pres- 
ently show  you  the  one  minute  and  foh- 
teen  seconds  you  desiah  upon  its  face.' 

"The  ole  man's  a  good  judge  of  pace, 
— - Trampfast  comes  home  bang  in  the 
fourteen  notch. 


OLE  MAN  SANFORD        217 

"When  Pete  gets  down  at  the  stalls, 
ole  man  Sanford  walks  up  to  him. 

1  'Hyah  is  a  dollah  foh  you,  boy,'  he 
says,  'n'  hands  Pete  a  buck.  'That  was 
a  well-rated  trial/ 

"Pete  looks  at  the  silver  buck  'n'  then 
at  ole  man  Sanford  'n'  then  at  me. 

"  'What  the  hell—'  he  says. 

"  'You  rough  neck!'  I  says  to  Pete. 
'Don't  you  know  how  to  act  when  a 
gentleman  slips  you  somethin'?' 

c  'But  look  a-here,'  says  Pete.  'He 
ain't  got — '  I  gives  Pete  a  poke  in  the 
slats.  'Much  obliged,  sir,'  he  says,  'n' 
puts  the  bone  in  his  pocket. 

"  'You  are  entirely  welcome,  mah  boy,' 
says  ole  man  Sanford,  wavin'  his  hand. 

"  'Say,'  Pete  says  to  me,  'I  think  this 
hoss'll  cop  without  shot  in  the  arm. 
He's  awful  good!' 

"  'Not  fur  mine,'  I  says.  'He  can  run 
fur  Sweeney  when  he  ain't  got  no  hop 
in  him.  Just  let  some  sassy  hoss  look  him 


218  BLISTER  JONES 

in  the  eye  fur  two  jumps  'n'  he'll  holler, 
"Please,  mister,  don't!"  Yea,  bo','  I 
says,  'I  know  this  pup  too  well.  When 
he's  carryin'  my  kale  he'll  be  shoutin' 
hallelooyah  with  a  big  joy  pill  under  his 
belt.' 

"I  furgets  all  about  ole  man  Sanford 
bein'  there.  You  don't  talk  about  hoppin' 
one  with  strangers  listenin',  but  he's 
around  so  much  I  never  thinks.  All  of 
a  sudden  he's  standin'  in  front  of  me 
lookin'  like  there's  somethin'  hurtin'  him. 

"'What's  the  matter,  Mr.  Sanford?' 
I  says. 

"  'I  gathah  from  yoh  convahsation,' 
says  he,  'that  it  is  yoh  practise  to  supple- 
ment the  fine  courage  that  God  has 
given  the  thoroughbred  with  vile  stim- 
ulants. Am  I  correct  in  this  supposition, 
suh?' 

'Why,  yes — '  I  says,  kind-a  took 
back.  'When  they  need  it  I  sure  gives 
it  to  'em.' 


OLE  MAN  SANFORD         219 

"Ole  man  Sanford  draws  hisself  up 
'n'  looks  at  me  like  I'm  a  toad. 

'  'Suh,'  he  says,  'the  man  who  does 
that  degrades  himself  and  the  helpless 
creature  that  Providence  has  placed  in 
his  keeping!  Not  only  that,  suh,  but  he 
insults  the  name  of  the  thoroughbred  and 
all  it  stands  for,  still  tendahly  cherished 
by  some  of  us.  Ah  have  heard  of  this 
abhorant  practise  that  has  come  as  a 
part  of  this  mercenary  age,  and,  suh, 
Ah  abominate  both  it  and  the  man  who 
would  be  guilty  of  such  an  act!' 

"  'Why,  look-a  here,  Mr.  Sanford,'  I 
says.  'They're  all  doin'  it.  If  you're 
goin'  to  train  bosses  you've  got  to  get 
in  the  band  wagon.  If  you  can't  give  the 
owner  a  run  fur  his  money  he'll  find 
somebody  to  train  'em  who  can!' 

"  'Do  you  mean  to  tell  me,  suh,  the 
wonderful  courage  displayed  by  that 
may  ah  when  the  time  came,  was  false?' 
says  ole  man  Sanford,  pointin'  at  Tres 


220  BLISTER  JONES 

Jolie's  stall.  'Ah  saw  strong  men,  the 
backbone  of  this  state,  suh,'  he  says, 
'watch  that  mayah  come  home  with 
tears  in  their  eyes.  Were  their  natures 
moved  to  the  depths  by  an  insulting 
counterfeit  of  greatness?' 

"'Why,  sure  not!'  I  says.  'But  all 
hosses  ain't  like  this  mare.' 

"  'They  are  not,  suh!'  says  ole  man 
Sanford.  'Noh  were  they  intended  to 
be!  But  few  of  us  are  ordained  foh  the 
heights.  However,'  he  says,  puttin'  his 
hand  on  my  shoulder,  'Ah  should  not 
censure  you  too  strongly,  young  man. 
In  fohcing  yoh  hawsses  to  simulate 
qualities  they  do  not  possess,  you  are 
only  a  part  of  yoh  times.  This  is  the  day 
of  imitation — I  find  it  between  the  covahs 
of  yoh  books — I  hear  it  in  the  music  yoh 
applaud — I  see  it  riding  by  in  motah- 
cars.  Imitation — all  imitation!' 

"I  ain't  hep  to  this  line  of  chatter — it's 
by  me.  But  I  dopes  it  out  he's  sore  at 
automobiles. 


OLE  MAN  SANFORD 

"  'What's  wrong  with  'em?'  I  says  to 
him. 

"  'Ah  don't  feel  qualified  to  answer 
yoh  question,  suh,'  he  says.  'Ah  believe 
the  blind  pursuit  and  worship  of  riches 
is  almost  entirely  responsible.  It  has 
bred  a  shallowness  and  superficiality  in 
and  towahds  the  finah  things  of  life.  But 
the  historian  will  answer  yoh  question 
at  a  later  day.  He  can  bring  a  calmness 
to  the  task  which  is  impossible  to  one 
surrounded  and  bewildered  by  it  all.' 

"I  ain't  any  wiser'n  I  was,  but  I  don't 
say  nothin*.  The  old  man  acts  like  he's 
study  in'  about  somethin'. 

"  'Who  owns  the  hawss  that  just 
trialed  three-quahtahs  in  fohteen?'  he 
says,  after  while. 

"  'Jim  Sigsbee  up  at  Cynthiana,'  I 
says. 

"  'Is  Mr.  Sigsbee  awaheh  of  the — meth- 
od you  pursue  with  regahd  to  falsely 
stimulating  his  hawss?'  says  ole  man 
Sanford. 


BLISTER  JONES 

'Well,  I  guess  yes!'  I  says.  'Jim 
won't  bet  a  dollar  on  him  unless  he's  got 
the  hop  in  him.' 

'  'Ah  shall  write  to  him,'  says  ole 
man  Sanford,  'n'  beats  it  down  the  track 
toward  the  gates. 

"I  don't  see  him  fur  over  a  week.  I 
figger  he's  sore  at  me  fur  dopin'  bosses. 
It's  a  funny  thing  but,  I'm  a  son-of-a-gun 
if  I  don't  miss  the  ole  duck.  From  the 
way  they  talk  I  see  the  boys  kind-a  miss 
him,  too. 

'I  wonder  where  ole  Pierpont's  at?' 
I  hears  Chick  say  to  Skinny.  'Gone  East 
to  see  one  of  his  bosses  prepped  fur  the 
Brooklyn,  I  guess.' 

:  'Naw,'  says  Skinny;  'you  got  that 
wrong.  He's  goin'  to  send  a  stable  to 
Urope,  'n'  Todd  Sloan's  tryin'  to  get  a 
contrac'  from  him  as  exercise-boy.  Ole 
Pierpont's  watchin'  Todd  work  out  a  few 
so  he  kin  size  up  his  style.' 

"I've  wrote  Jim  Sigsbee  Trampfast's 


ready,  but  I  don't  enter  the  boss  'cause 
I  know  Jim  wants  to  come  over  'n'  bet 
a  piece  of  money  on  him.  I  don't  hear 
from  Jim,  Jn'  I  wonder  why. 

"One  day  I'm  settin'  in  front  of  the 
stalls  'n'  here  comes  ole  man  Sanford 
down  the  line. 

"''Why,  hello,  Mr.  Sanford!'  I  says. 
'We  sort-a  figgered  you'd  quit  us.  Things 
ain't  gone  right  since  you  left.  The 
boys  need  you  to  keep  'em  on  their  toes.' 

'  'Ah  have  not  deserted  you  inten- 
tionally, suh,'  he  says.  'Since  Ah  saw 
you  last  an  old  friend  of  mine  has 
passed  to  his  rewahd.  The  Hono'able 
James  Tullfohd  Fawcett  is  no  moh,  suh— 
a  gallant  gentleman  has  left  us.' 

"  That's  too  bad,'  I  says.  'Did  he 
leave  a  family?' 

:  'He  did  not,  suh,'  says  ole  man  San- 
ford. 'Ah  fell  heir  to  his  entiah  estate, 
only  excepting  the  silvah  mug  presented 
to  his  beloved  mothah  at  his  birth  by 


BLISTER  JONES 

Andrew  Jackson  himself,  suh.  This  he 
bequeathed  to  the  public,  and  it  will  soon 
be  displayed  at  the  rooms  of  the  Histor- 
ical Society  named  in  his  last  will  and 
testament.' 

'  'Did  you  get  much  out  of  it?'  I  says. 

1  'He  had  already  endowed  me  with  a 
friendship  beyond  price,  suh,'  he  says. 
'His  estate  was  not  a  large  one  as  such 
things  go — some  twelve  hundred  dollahs, 
I  believe.' 

"'That's  better'n  breakin'  a  leg,'  I 
says. 

"  'You  will,  perhaps,  be  interested  to 
learn,'  he  says,  'that  Ah  have  pu'chased 
the  hawss  Trampfast  with  a  po'tion  of 
the  money.  Hyah  is  a  lettah  foh  you 
from  Mr.  Sigsbee  relative  to  the  mattah.' 
He  hands  me  a  letter,  but  I  can't  hardly 
read  it — his  buyin'  this  hop-head  gets 
my  goat. 

"  'What  you  goin'  to  do  with  him?'  I 
says.  'Race  him?' 


OLE  MAN  SANFORD        225 

"  That  is  ma  intention,  suh,'  he  says. 
'Ah  expect  to  keep  him  in  yoh  hands. 
But,  of  co'se,  suh,  the  hawss  will  race  on 
his  merits  and  without  any  sawt  of 
stimulant.' 

"I  ain't  stuck  on  the  proposition.  The 
Trampfast  hoss  can't  beat  a  cook  stove 
without  the  hop.  I  hate  to  see  the  ole 
man  burn  up  his  dough  on  a  dead  one. 

:'  'Now,  Mr.  Sanford,'  I  says,  'times 
has  changed  since  you  raced.  If  you'll 
let  me  handle  this  hoss  to  suit  myself 
I  think  I  can  make  a  piece  of  money  fur 
you.  The  game  ain't  like  it  was  once, 
'n'  if  you  try  to  pull  the  stuff  that  got  by 
thirty  years  ago,  they'll  trim  you  right 
down  to  the  suspenders.  They  ain't 
nothin'  crooked  about  slippin'  the  hop 
into  a  hoss  that  needs  it.' 

"  'As  neahly  as  I  can  follow  yoh  fohm 
of  speech,'  says  ole  man  Sanford,  'you 
intend  to  convey  the  impression  that  the 
practise  of  stimulating  a  hawss  has  be- 


226  BLISTER  JONES 

come   entirely   propah.      Am   I   correct, 
suh?' 

"'That's    it,'    I    says.    '  'N'   you   can 
gamble  I'm  right.' 

1  'Is  the  practise  allowed  under  pres- 
ent day  racing  rules?'  says  ole  man  San- 
ford,  'n'  I  think  I've  got  him  goin'. 

'Why,  sure  not,'  I  says.  'But  how 
long  would  a  guy  last  if  he  never  broke 
a  racin'  rule?' 

'  'Out  of  yoh  own  mouth  is  yoh  augu- 
ment  condemned,  suh,'  says  ole  man 
Sanford.  'Even  in  this  day  and  gener- 
ation the  rules  fohbid  it — and  let  me  say, 
suh,  that  should  a  trainah,  a  jockey,  or 
any  one  connected  with  a  stable  of  mine, 
be  guilty  of  wilfully  violating  a  racing 
rule,  Ah  would  discharge  him  at  once, 
suh!' 

"  'Fow  goin9  to  race  on  the  level  all  the 
time?9  I  says. 

( 'If  by  that  expression  you  mean 
hono'ably  and  as  a  gentleman — yes,  suh !' 


OLE  MAN  SANFORD         227 

"  'Good  night,  nurse!'  I  says.  'You'll  go 
broke  quick  at  that  game!' 

"  'Allow  me  to  remind  you  that  that 
is  ma  own  affaih,  suh,'  says  ole  man  San- 
ford,  V  the  argument's  over.  His  ideas 
date  back  so  far  they're  mildewed,  but  I 
see  I  can't  change  'em.  He  don't  be- 
long around  a  race  track  no  more'n 
your  grandmother! 

"'All  right,  Mr.  Sanford!'  I  says. 
'You're  the  doctor!  We'll  handle  him 
just  like  you  say.' 

"Peewee  Simpson  has  come  over  to 
chew  the  rag  with  me,  'n'  he  hears  most 
of  this  talk. 

'Wait  till  I  call  the  boys,'  he  says, 
when  ole  man  Sanford  goes  in  to  look  at 
the  hoss. 

"  'What  fur?'  I  says. 
:  'Family    prayers,'    says    Peewee. 

"I  throws  a  scraper  at  him,  'n'  he 
goes  on  down  the  line  singin',  Onward, 
Christian  Soldiers. 


228  BLISTER  JONES 

"Ole  man  Sanford  orders  a  set  of  silks. 
He's  got  to  send  away  fur  the  kind  he 
wants  'n'  he  won't  let  me  start  his  hoss 
till  they  come.  Nobody  but  big  stables 
pays  attention  to  colors,  so  I  tries  to 
talk  him  out  of  the  notion, — nothin' 
doin'! 

'  'Ma  colors  were  known  and  respected 
in  days  gone  by,  suh,'  he  says.  'Ah  owe 
it  to  the  public  who  reposed  confidence 
in  the  puhple  and  white,  to  fly  ma  old 
flag  when  Ah  once  moh  take  the  field. 
Yes,  suh.' 

"  'Purple  V  white!'  I  says.  Them's 
the  colors  of  the  McVay  stable!' 

'  'Ah  was  breeding  stake  hawsses, 
suh,'  says  ole  man  Sanford,  'when  his 
mothah's  milk  was  not  yet  dry  upon 
the  lips  of  young  McVay.' 

"When  the  silks  come,  I  picks  out  a 
real  soft  spot  for  Trampfast.  It's  a  six 
furlong  ramble  fur  has-beens  'n'  there's 
sure  a  bunch  of  kioodles  in  it!  Most  of 
'em  ought  to  be  on  crutches.  My  hoss 


OLE  MAN  SANFORD         229 

has  showed  me  the  distance  in  fourteen, 
V  that's  about  where  this  gang'll  stagger 
home.  With  the  hop  in  him  the  Tramp- 
fast  hoss'll  give  me  two  seconds  better. 
He  ought  to  be  a  swell  bet.  But  the  hop 
puts  all  the  heart  in  him  there  is — he 
ain't  got  one  of  his  own.  If  he  runs 
empty  he'll  lay  down  sure.  I  can't  hop 
him,  so  I  won't  bet  on  him  with  counter- 
feit money. 

"The  mawnin*  of  the  race  ole  man 
Sanford's  at  the  stalls  bright  'n'  early. 
He's  chipper  as  a  canary.  He  watches 
Chick  hand-rub  the  hoss  fur  a  while  V 
then  he  pulls  out  a  roll  'n*  eases  Chick 
two  bucks.  I  pipes  off  the  roll.  The 
ole  man  sees  me  lookin'  at  it. 

'  'Ah  intend  to  wageh  moderately  to- 
day/ he  says.     'And  Ah  have  brought  a 
small   sum   with   me  foh  the  puhpose.' 
'What  you  goin'  to  bet  on?'  I  says. 

'  'Ma  own  hawss,  of  co'se,  suh,'  he  says. 
'It  is  ma  custom  to  back  only  ma  own 
hawsses  or  those  of  ma  friends.' 


230  BLISTER  JONES 

"I  don't  say  nothin'.  I'm  wise  by 
this  time,  he  plays  the  game  to  suit  his- 
self,  but  it  sure  makes  me  sick.  I  hate 
as  bad  to  see  the  ole  man  lose  his  dough 
as  if  it's  mine. 

"I  goes  over  'n'  sets  down  on  the  track 
fence. 

'When  you  train  a  hoss  fur  a  guy 
you  do  like  he  says,  don't  you?'  I  says 
to  myself.  'You  don't  own  this  hoss, 
'n'  the  owner  don't  want  him  hopped. 
They  ain't  but  one  answer — don't  hop 
him.' 

'  'But  look-a  here,'  I  says  back  to  my- 
self. 'If  you  sees  a  child  in  wrong,  you 
tells  him  to  beat  it,  don't  you?  It  ain't 
your  child,  is  it?  Well,  this  ole  man 
ain't  nothin'  but  a  child.  If  he  was, 
he'd  let  you  hop  the  hoss,  'n'  make  a 
killin'  fur  him.'  I  argues  with  myself 
this  way,  but  they  can't  neither  one  of 
us  figger  it  out  to  suit  the  other. 

'  'I  wish  the  damned  ole  fool  had 
somebody  else  a-trainin*  his  dog!'  I 


OLE  MAN  SANFORD         231 

thinks  after  I've  set  there  a  hour  'n' 
ain't  no  further  along  'n  I  was  when  I 
starts. 

"When  it's  gettin'  towards  post  time, 
ole  man  Sanford  hikes  fur  the  stand. 
c  'Skinny,'  I  says,  'amble  over  to  the 
bettin'  shed  'n'  watch  what  the  ole  man 
does.  As  soon  as  he's  got  his  kale  down, 
beat  it  back  here  on  the  jump,  'n'  tell  me 
how  much  he  gets  on  'n'  what  the  odds 
are.' 

"In  about  ten  minutes  here  comes 
Skinny  at  a  forty  shot. 

'  'He  bets  a  hundred  straight  at  fif- 
teen-to-one!  What  do  you  know  about 
that?'  he  hollers. 

"  'That  settles  it!'  I  says.  'Chick, 
get  them  two  bottles  that's  hid  under  the 
rub-rags  in  the  trunk!  Now,  ole  Holler- 
enough,'  I  says  to  the  Tramp,  'you  may 
be  a  imitation  hoss,  but  we're  goin'  to 
make  you  look  so  much  like  the  real 
thing  your  own  mother  won't  know 
you!  ... 


232  BLISTER  JONES 

"When  Trampfast  starts  fur  the  pad- 
dock, his  eyes  has  begun  to  roll  'n'  he's 
walkin'  proud. 

"  'He  thinks  he's  the  Zar  of  Rushy/ 
says  Chick.  'He'll  be  seein'  pink  ele- 
phants in  a  minute.' 

"I  don't  find  ole  man  Sanford  till 
they're  at  the  post.  He's  standin'  by  the 
fence  at  the  wire. 

"The  start's  bein'  held  up  by  the 
Tramp.  He's  sure  puttin'  on  a  show — the 
hop's  got  him  as  wild  as  a  eagle.  It's  too 
far  away  fur  the  ole  man  to  see  good,  so 
I  don't  put  him  hep  it's  his  hoss  that's 
cuttin'  the  didoes. 

"Just  then  Chick  conies  up. 

'  'I  hear  you  get  a  nice  bet  down  on 
your  hoss,  Mr.  Sanford,'  he  says.  'I 
sure  hope  he  cops.' 

'Thank  you,  ma  boy,'  says  ole  man 
Sanford.  'I  only  placed  a  small  wageh, 
but  at  vehy  liberal  odds.  Ah  shall  profit 
materially  should  he  win  his  race.' 


OLE  MAN  SANFORD        238 

*  'If  he  gets  away  good  he'll  roll,' 
says  Chick.  'There's  no  class  to  that 
bunch,  'n'  he's  a  bear  with  a  shot  in 
him.  But  he's  a  bad  actor  when  he's 
hopped — look  at  the  fancy  stuff  he's 
pullin'  now!' 

'You  are  mistaken,  ma  boy,'  says 
ole  man  Sanford.  'This  hawss  has  had 
no  stimulant  to-day.9 

"Like  a  nut  I've  furgot  to  tell  the 
boys  the  ole  man  ain't  on.  I  tries  to 
give  Chick  the  high  sign,  but  he's  watchin' 
the  hosses,  'n'  before  I  can  get  to  him  he 
belches  up  the  glad  news. 

6  'If  he  ain't  hopped  one  never  was!' 
he  says.  'We  put  a  fierce  shot  in  him. 
Look  at  him  act  if  you  don — ' 

"I  kick  his  shin  off  right  there,  but  it's 
too  late,  ole  man  Sanford  gets  pale  as  a 
rag. 

!  'How  dare  you — '  he  says,  'n'  stops. 
'But  Ah  shall  prevent  it!'  he  says,  'n' 
starts  fur  the  judge's  stand.  He  ain't 


234  BLISTER  JONES 

got  a  chance — just  then  they  get  away, 
'n'  he  turns  back  to  me  when  he  hears 
the  crowd  holler,  'They're  off!' 

'Young  man,'  he  says,  pointin'  at 
me,  'n'  he's  shakin'  like  he's  cold.  'What 
have  Ah  evah  done  to  you  to  merit  such 
treatment  at  yoh  hands?' 

"I  see  there's  no  use  to  lie  to  him,  so 
I  gives  it  to  him  straight. 

'  'Mr.  Sanford,'  I  says,  'the  hoss  can't 
win  without  it,  'n'  I  don't  want  to  see 
you  lose  your  money.' 

"Ole  man  Sanford  sort-a  wilts.  He 
seems  to  get  smaller.  I've  never  noticed 
how  old  he  is  till  now.  He  stands  a- 
lookin'  at  me  like  he  never  sees  me 
before. 

"The  crowd  begins  to  yell  as  the  bosses 
hit  the  stretch.  The  Tramp  is  out  in 
front,  'n'  he  stays  there  all  the  way. 
The  ole  man  never  even  looks  towards 
the  track. 

'  'He  wins  easy,'  says  Chick  as  they 


OLE  MAN  SANFORD         235 

go  under  the  wire,  'n'  all  you  can  hear  is 
'Trampfast!  Trampfast!'  but  ole  man 
Sanford  still  keeps  a-starin'  at  me. 

'You  want  to  cheer  up,  Mr.  Sanford/ 
I  says.    'You  win  a  nice  bet  on  him.' 

"He  pulls  the  tickets  out  of  his  pocket 
'n'  looks  at  'em.  They  call  fur  sixteen 
hundred  bucks. 

'  'As  Ah  have  told  you  once  befoh, 
young  man,'  he  says,  a-lookin'  at  the 
tickets.  'Ah  can  not  blame  you  greatly, 
because  you  are  paht  of  yoh  times.  This 
is  the  excuse  Ah  find  foh  you  in  thinking 
Ah  would  value  money  moh  than  the 
spohtsmanship  of  a  gentleman.  Yoh 
times  are  bad,  young  man!'  he  says. 
'They  have  succeeded  in  staining  the 
puhple  and  white  at  the  vehy  end.  Ah 
would  neveh  have  raced  afteh  to-day. 
It  was  a  whim  of  an  old  man  to  see  his 
colons  once  moh  among  a  field  of  hawses. 
Ah  knew  Ah  was  not  of  this  day.  Ah 
should  have  known  bettah  than  to  be- 


236  BLISTER  JONES 

come  a  paht  of  it  even  foh  a  little  time. 
Ah  have  learned  ma  lesson/  he  says, 
lookin'  up  at  me.  'But  you  have  made  it 
vehy  bittah.' 

"He  looks  down  at  the  tickets  again 
fur  a  minute.  .  .  Then  he  tears  'em 
across  three  ways  'n'  drops  'em  on  the 
ground." 


CLASS 

44VY7HAT  do  you  like  in  the  handi- 
VV    cap?"  I  asked,  looking  up  from 
the  form  sheet. 

Blister  reached  for  the  paper. 

"Indigo's  the  class,"  he  said,  after  a 
glance  at  the  entries.  "If  they  run  to 
form,  he'll  cop." 

"There  you  go  again — with  your  class!" 
I  exclaimed.  "You're  always  talking 
about  class.  What  does  class  mean?" 

"Long  as  you've  been  hangin'  'round 
the  track  'n'  not  know  what  class  means !" 
Blister  looked  at  me  pityingly.  "There's 
no  class  to  that,"  he  added,  with  a  grin. 

"Seriously  now,"  I  urged.  "Explain 
it  to  me.  Class,  as  you  call  it,  is  beaten 
right  along.  Just  the  other  day  you 
said  Exponent  was  the  class  and  should 
have  won,  but  he  didn't." 
237 


£38  BLISTER  JONES 

"He  has  the  most  left  at  that,"  said 
Blister.  "He  wins  in  three  more  jumps. 
You  can't  beat  class.  It'll  come  back 
fur  more." 

"Molly  S.  beat  him,"  I  insisted. 

"Yep,  she  beat  him  that  one  race," 
Blister  admitted.  "But  how  does  she 
beat  him?  Do  you  notice  the  boy  gets 
her  away  wingin'  'n'  keeps  her  there  all 
the  trip?  .  .  .  Why?  Because  he 
knows  she  can't  come  from  behind  'n' 
win.  If  the  old  hoss  gets  to  her  any 
place  in  the  stretch  she  lays  down  to  him 
sure.  She  ain't  got  the  class  'n'  he  has. 
She  can  win  a  race  now  'n'  then  when 
things  break  right  fur  her,  but  the  Ex- 
ponent hoss'll  win  anyway — on  three  legs 
if  he  has  to.  He's  got  the  class." 

"How  can  you  get  horses  with  class?" 
I  inquired.  "By  breeding?" 

"If  you  want  it  you  lay  down  big  coin 
fur  it,"  Blister  answered.  "It  follows 
blood  lines  some,  but  not  all  the  time. 


CLASS  239 

I've  seed  awful  dogs  bred  clear  to  the 
clouds.  Then  again  it'll  show  in  a  wean- 
lin'.  I've  seed  sucklin'  colts  with  class 
stickin'  out  all  over  'em.  Kids  has  it, 
too.  It  shows  real  young  sometimes." 

"How  can  a  child  show  anything  like 
that?"  I  remonstrated.  "He  has  no 
opportunity.  Class,  as  I  understand  it, 
is  deep-seated — part  of  the  very  fiber. 
It  takes  a  big  situation  to  bring  it  out. 
Where  did  you  ever  see  a  child  display 
this  quality?" 

"I've  seed  it  many  a  time  in  little  dirty- 
faced  swipes,"  Blister  stated.  "I've  seed 
exercise-boys  so  full  of  class  they  put  the 
silks  on  'em  before  they  can  bridle  a 
hoss,  'n'  they  bawl  like  you've  took 
away  their  apple  when  they  lose  their 
first  race.  You've  heard  of  Hamilton?" 

"I  have  been  told  he  is  the  best  sire 
in  America,"  I  replied,  wondering  where 
this  question  led. 

"I    won't    say    that,"    said    Blister. 


240  BLISTER  JONES 

"There's  a  lot  of  good  bosses  at  stud  in 
this  land-of-the-free-when-you-pay-fur-it, 
but  he's  up  there  with  the  best  of  'em. 
Did  you  know  I  owns  him  once  myself?" 

"Not  the  great  Hamilton?"  I  pro- 
tested. 

"Yep,  the  great  all-the-time,  anyhow- 
'n'-any-place  Hamilton,"  Blister  assured 
me.  'N'  speakin'  of  class  in  kids  'n' 
colts,  lemme  tell  you  about  it."  He 
reached  for  his  "makin's"  and  I  waited 
while  he  rolled  a  cigarette,  this  process 
being  a  necessary  prelude  to  a  journey 
into  his  past. 

"The  year  Seattle  Sam  goes  down  'n' 
out,"  the  words  came  in  a  cloud  of 
cigarette  smoke,  "I'm  at  Saratoga.  This 
Seattle  is  one  of  the  big  plungers,  his 
nod's  good  with  the  bookies  fur  anything 
he  wants  to  lay,  'n'  he  sure  bets  'em  to 
the  sky.  He  owns  a  grand  string  of 
hosses,  'n5  when  one  of  'em's  out  to  win, 
believe  me,  he  carries  the  coin!" 


CLASS  241 

"All  the  same  they  get  him  at  last 
'n'  there  ain't  nothin*  else  talked  about 
fur  a  couple  of  days  when  the  word  goes 
'round  that  he's  cleaned.  The  bunch  acts 
like  somebody's  dead.  They  whisper 
when  they  tell  it.  It's  got  'em  dazed. 

"In  them  days  there's  a  little  squirt 
called  Micky  that  hangs  around  the 
track.  He  ain't  got  a  regular  job;  he 
just  picks  up  odd  mounts  on  a  work-out 
now  'n'  then.  He  don't  weigh  eighty 
pounds,  but  he's  fresher 'n  a  bucket  of 
paint.  His  right  name's  Vincent  Mulli- 
gan, 'n'  his  mother's  a  widow  woman. 
I  learns  that  'cause  the  old  lady  sends  a 
truant  officer  out  to  the  track  after  him 
one  day,  'n'  the  cop  puts  me  wise  after 
Micky  has  dumb  through  a  stall  win- 
dow, 'n'  give  him  the  slip. 

"  'Why,  you  big  truck  hoss,'  says 
Micky  to  the  bull  as  he  skidoos  through 
the  window,  'y°u  couldn't  catch  a  cold 
at  the  north  pole  in  yer  dirty  undershirt!' 


242  BLISTER  JONES 

"  'Why  don't  you  go  to  school  like 
you'd  ought,  Vincent?'  I  says  to  Micky, 
when  he  shows  up  the  next  day. 

"  'Aw,  you  go  to  hell!'  says  Micky. 
'Say,  are  you  ever  goin'  to  let  me  work 
one  of  yer  dogs  out  in  place  of  that 
smoke?'  he  says,  pointin'  at  Snowball, 
my  exercise-boy. 

'Who  you  callin'  a  smoke?'  says 
Snowball,  startin'  fur  Micky.  Til  slap 
the  ugly  I'ish  mouth  off  you!' 

"Micky  picks  up  a  pitchfork. 

"  'Go  awn,  you  black  boob !'  he  says. 
'If  I  reaches  fer  yer  gizzard  with  this 
tickler,  I  gets  it!' 

"Snowball  backs  up.  I  grabs  the  fork 
from  the  little  shrimp. 

'  'Now,  you  beat  it!'  I  says  to  him. 

"  'Aw,  you  go  to  hell !'  says  Micky. 
He  lays  down  on  a  bail  of  straw  'n'  pulls 
his  hat  over  his  face.  'If  any  guy  both- 
ers me  while  I'm  gettin'  my  rest,'  he 
says,  'call  a  hearse.  Don't  wake  me  up 
till  some  guy  wants  a  hoss  worked  out.' 


CLASS  243 

"One  day  I  goes  to  lay  a  piker's  bet  in 
Ike  Rosenberg's  book. 

"  'All  across  on  Tantrum,'  I  says  to 
Ike. 

'  'Hello,  Blister,'  says  Ike,  when  he 
goes  to  hand  me  the  ticket.  'I  like  that 
one  myself.  Go  over  'n'  lay  me  a  hun- 
dred 'n'  fifty  the  same  way, — here's  the 
change.' 

"When  I  bring  Ike  his  ticket  he  tells  me 
to  wait  a  minute,  'n'  pretty  soon  he  puts 
a  sheet-writer  on  the  block  'n'  steps 
down. 

'  'Come  over  here,'  he  says,  'n'  I 
trails  him  out  of  the  bettin'  shed.  'I've 
took  a  two-year-old  for  a  thousand 
dollar  marker  of  Seattle's,'  says  Ike, 
swingin'  'round  on  me.  'You  want 
him?' 

"  'To  train,  you  mean?'  I  says,  'Is 
that  it?' 

'  'Sure,'  says  Ike.  'You  can  have  him 
on  shares  if  you  want.' 

"  'Tell  me  about  him,'  I  says. 


244  BLISTER  JONES 

"'Well/  says  Ike,  'he's  a  big  little 
boss  made  good  all  over.  He  ain't  never 
started  yet,  but  he's  been  prepped  for 
two  months.  He's  by  Edgemont.  First 
dam,  Cora,  by  Musketeer.  Second  dam, 
Debutante,  by  Peddler.  Third  dam, 
Daisy  Dean,  by  Salvation.  Fourth  dam, 
lole,  by  Messenger.  He's  registered  as 
Hamilton,  'n'  that's  all  I  know.' 

'That's  sure  some  breedin','  I  says. 
'But  I  never  takes  a  colt  on  shares. 
I'll  handle  him  fur  you  as  careful  as  I 
know  how  'n'  it'll  cost  you  fifty  a  month. 
That's  the  best  I  can  do.' 

"  'I'll  send  him  over  this  evenin',' 
says  Ike.  'Let  me  know  what  you  think 
of  him  after  he  works  out  for  you.' 

"I  like  this  Hamilton  colt  the  minute 
I  gets  my  lamps  on  him.  He  ain't  over 
fifteen  hands,  but  he's  all  hoss.  He'll 
weigh  right  at  nine  hundred,  'n'  that's 
quite  a  chunk  of  a  two-year-old.  He's 
got  a  fine  little  head  on  him  'n'  his  eye 


CLASS  345 

has  the  right  look.  A  good  game  hoss'll 
look  at  you  like  a  eagle.  I  don't  want 
nothin'  to  do  with  a  sheep-eyed  pup. 
This  colt  has  a  eye  like  a  game  cock. 

"Pee wee  Simpson  is  at  my  stalls  when 
they  brings  the  colt  over,  'n'  after  we've 
sized  him  up  I  asks  Peewee  what  he 
thinks  of  the  little  rooster. 

;  'Him?'  says  Peewee.  'He's  a  bear- 
cat. I'll  bet  he  entertains  you  frequent 
'n'  at  short  notice.  I  don't  figger  him 
related  to  Mary's  lamb,  not  any.  You 
better  keep  your  eye  on  little  Hamilton. 
Hammy's  likely  to  be  a  naughty  boy  any 
time.' 

"Peewee's  got  the  correct  hunch — the 
first  time  Snowball  takes  him  out  Ham- 
ilton runs  off  'n'  the  boy  don't  get  him 
stopped  till  he  romps  five  miles. 

1  'Can't  you  stop  him  sooner'n  that?' 
I  says  to  Snowball  when  he's  back. 

"Micky's  at  the  stalls  that  mawnin', 
'n'  he  butts  in,  as  usual. 


246  BLISTER  JONES 

"  'Stop  him!'  he  says.  That  black 
boob  couldn't  stop  a  hoss  in  a  box  stall. 
Lemme  me  have  him  next  work-out!' 

'  Til  let  you  have  a  slap  on  the  ear/  I 
says. 

'  'Aw,  you  go  to  hell !'  says  Micky. 

"Next  work-out  day  Hamilton  pulls 
off  the  same  stunt.  He's  feelin'  extra 
good  that  mawnin',  I  guess,  'cause  he 
makes  a  nine  mile  trip  of  it.  Micky 
stands  there  with  me,  watchin'  the  colt 
go  round  'n'  round  the  track. 

'Why   don't   you   can   that   choc'lit 
drop,'  he  says,  '  'n'  put  a  white  man  up?' 

"  'Meanin'  you?'  I  says.  'You'd  holler 
fur  your  milk  bottle  before  he  goes  a 
eighth  with  you.' 

'  'Aw,  you  go  to  hell!'  says  Micky. 

"I  borrows  a  curb  'n'  chain  from  Eddy 
Murphy — he's  been  usin'  it  on  ole  Dande- 
lion. It's  fierce — you  can  bust  a  boss's 
jaw  with  it.  I  puts  it  on  Hamilton  next 
work-out. 


CLASS  247 

"  'I  guess  that'll  hold  little  Hammy,' 
I  says,  when  Snowball's  up.  But  it  don't. 
The  colt  ain't  any  more'n  felt  the  curb 
when  he  bolts  into  the  fence  'n'  chucks 
Snowball  off.  I  starts  to  catch  the  boss, 
but  Micky  gets  to  him  first  'n'  grabs 
him. 

'Lemme  give  him  a  whirl/  he  says. 
'Come  on — be  a  sport  fur  a  change!' 

"Snowball  rolls  away  from  the  colt  'n' 
picks  hisself  up. 

;  'He  is  shoh  welcome  to  him,'  he  says. 
'I  got  no  moh  use  foh  him.' 

"I  studies  a  minute,  lookin'  at  Micky. 
He  don't  come  much  above  Hamilton's 
knee.  He's  lookin'  at  me  like  a  pup  beg- 
gin'  fur  a  bone. 

f  'Go  to  it,  you  ornery  little  shrimp !' 
I  says  at  last.  'If  a  worse  pair  ever  gets 
together  I've  never  seed  it!' 

"Micky  gives  a  yelp  like  a  terrier. 

"  Take  off  this  bit  'n'  put  a  straight 
bar  on  him,'  he  says. 


248  BLISTER  JONES 

"  'Why,  you  couldn't  hold  one  of  his 
ears  with  a  bar  bit,'  I  says. 

"  *  Who's  ridin'  this  hoss?'  says  Micky. 
'Go  awn,  get  the  bit!' 

"  'Get  him  what  he  wants,'  I  says  to 
Snowball. 

"We  leads  the  colt  on  to  the  track, 
when  the  bits  is  changed,  'n'  just  as  I 
throws  Micky  up  I  see  he's  got  a  bat. 

"  'What  you  goin'  to  do  with  that?' 
I  says.  'You  need  a  parachute,  not  a 
whip!' 

"  '/  always  ride  'em  with  a  bat.  Turn 
him  loose,'  says  Micky. 

"Well,  it's  the  same  thing  over  again, 
the  colt  runs  off.  All  Micky  does  is  to 
keep  him  in  the  track.  I  see  he  ain't 
pullin'  a  pound.  They've  gone  about 
six  mile  'n'  Hamilton  begins  to  slow  a 
little.  Just  then  Micky  lights  into  him 
with  the  bat. 

"  'Look  at  dat!'  says  Snowball.  'He's 
los*  his  minY 


CLASS  249 

"  Wo,  he  ain't?  I  says.  'He's  there 
forty  ways!'  I've  just  begun  to  tumble 
the  kid's  wise  as  owls.  'Oh,  you  Micky!' 
I  hollers.  'Go  to  it,  you  white  boy!' 

"I  hate  to  tell  you  how  far  that  kid 
works  the  hoss.  He  keeps  handin'  him 
the  bat  every  other  jump.  It  gets  so  I 
can  run  as  fast  as  they're  movin'  'n* 
Hamilton's  just  prayin'  fur  help.  I'm 
afraid  he'll  jim  the  colt  fur  good,  so  I 
yells  at  Micky  to  cut  it  out,  when  he 
comes  by. 

f  'Come  down  off  of  that,  you  squirt!' 
I  says.     'Do  you  want  to  kill  the  colt?' 

"  'Aw,  you  go  to  hell!'  he  says,  'n' 
'round  they  go  again.  When  Hamilton 
ain't  got  more'n  a  good  stagger  left, 
Micky  rides  him  through  the  gate  to 
the  stall. 

c  'Now,  pony,'  he  says  to  Hamilton, 
'don't  start  no  thin'  you  can't  finish.' 

"The  trip  kills  a  ordinary  hoss,  but 
they  ain't  nothin'  ordinary  about  this 


250  BLISTER  JONES 

Hamilton.  I  learns  that  then.  We  cools 
him  out  good  'n'  in  three  days  he's 
kickin'  the  roof  off  the  stall. 

"Come  work-out  day  Micky  goes  up 
on  Hamilton.  Say,  the  colt  eats  out  of 
his  hand.  Micky's  got  him  buffaloed 
right.  He  gallops  Hamilton  a  nice  mile 
'n'  pulls  up  at  the  gate. 

'What  do  you  want  him  to  do  now? 
Stand  on  his  head?'  he  says.  'Times  is 
dull.' 

'  'Shoot  him  three  furlongs,'  I  says. 

f  'Shoot  is  the  word,'  says  Micky. 
"Hamilton  romps  the  three  furlongs 
in  nothin'  flat — I'm  tickled  sick. 

f  'He's  a  bear!'  I  says  to  Micky  at 
the  stalls.  '  'N'  as  fur  you — you're  on 
the  pay-roll.' 

'Why,  you're  a  live  one,  ain't  you?' 
says  Micky.  'Wait  till  I  go  chase  the 
Smoke!'  The  next  thing  I  see  is  Snow- 
ball goin'  down  the  line  like  a  quarter 
hoss,  'n'  Micky's  proddin'  at  him  with 
a  pitchfork. 


CLASS  251 

"  'He  won't  be  back/  says  Micky, 
when  he's  puttin'  up  the  fork. 

"  'Now,  look-a  here,'  I  says,  'you  got 
to  cut  this  rough  stuff,  if  you  works  fur 
me.' 

"  'Aw,  you  go  to  hell!'  says  Micky  to 
me. 

"Right  then  I  gets  him  by  the  collar, 
'n'  takes  a  bat  from  the  rack.  I  works 
on  him  till  the  bat's  wore  out  'n'  then 
reaches  fur  another.  Micky  ain't  opened 
his  face.  I  wears  that  one  out  'n'  grabs 
another.  Micky  looks  up  at  the  rack — 
there's  four  more  bats  left. 

"  'Nix  on  number  three!'  he  yells. 
'I'm  listenin'  to  you!' 

'  'All  right,'  I  says,   hangin'   up  the 
bat.     'Now,   listen  good.     Cut  out  this 
rough  stuff — you  got  me?' 
'  'I  got  you,'  says  Micky. 

"I  tells  Ike  he's  got  a  good  colt,  but 
only  one  boy  can  ride  him.  Ike  comes 
over  to  the  stalls  with  me  to  see  the 
boy  'n'  Hamilton. 


BLISTER  JONES 

"  'Not  that  kid?'  he  says,  when  he 
takes  a  slant  at  Micky.  'A  hobby-hoss 
lets  him  out.' 

"Micky  goes  straight  up. 

"'Why,  you  fat-headed  Kike!'  he 
says.  'The  only  thing  you  can  tell  me 
about  a  hoss  is  how  much  the  nails  cost 
to  hold  his  shoes  on.' 

"Ike  turns  to  me. 

'  'Don't  never  let  that  boy  throw  a 
leg  over  a  hoss  of  mine  again,'  he  says. 
'Enter  this  colt  in  the  two-year-old 
scramble  Friday.  I'll  get  Whitman  to 
ride.  I  guess  he'll  hold  him.' 

"  'Now,  look  at  that!'  I  says  to  Micky 
when  Ike's  gone.  'You  will  shoot  off 
your  face,  won't  you?  Ain't  you  never 
goin'  to  learn  to  keep  that  loud  trap  of 
yours  closed?' 

'  'Aw,  you  go — '  Micky  stops  there. 

"I  takes  a  step  towards  the  whip  rack. 

8  'Come  on — '  I  says,  'let's  hear  from 
you!' 


CLASS  253 

"'—to  hell  with  the  big  Kike!'  says 
Micky. 

1  'Does  that  let  me  in?'  I  says. 

"Micky  studies  a  minute  lookin'  at 
me  'n'  the  bats  in  the  rack. 

'  'Naw — just   the   Kike,'   he   says   at 
last. 

"When  Whitman's  up  on  Hamilton, 
before  they  goes  to  the  post,  I  tries  to 
put  him  wise. 

'You're  on  a  bad  actor,  Whitty,'  I 
says.  'If  you  ain't  on  your  toes,  he  runs 
off  with  you  sure.'  This  Whitman's 
a  star,  'n'  nobody  knows  it  better'n 
him. 

'What  do  you  hire  a  jock  fur?'  he 
says.  'Why  don't  you  train  'n'  ride 
both?' 

"  'All  right,'  I  says.     'I'm  tellin'  you 


now! 

(4 


'If  this  hoss  is  ready,'  says  Whitman, 
'you've  earned  your  money — don't  work 
overtime.' 


254  BLISTER  JONES 

"I  goes  through  the  paddock  'n'  out 
on  the  lawn.  Before  I'm  there  I  hears 
the  crowd  yellin'.  When  I  can  see  the 
track,  there's  the  field  at  the  post  all 
but  Hamilton.  He  'n'  Whitty  has  made 
a  race  all  to  theirselves.  It  turns  out 
to  be  a  six  mile  ramble  with  only  one 
entry. 

"I  goes  to  the  stand  'n'  scratches  Ham- 
ilton while  he's  still  runnin'.  The  field 
waits  at  the  post  till  they  get  a  clear 
track. 

'  'I  didn't  know  this  was  a  distance 
race/  I  says  to  Whitty  when  he  gets 
down.  Whitty's  sore  as  a  crab,  the 
bunch'll  mention  it  to  him  the  rest  of 
the  season. 

'You  don't  want  a  jock  on  this  thing,' 
he  says.    'A  engineer  is  what  he  needs.' 

'  'Sell  him,'  is  the  first  words  Ike  says 
to  me  when  I  sees  him. 

"  'Sett  him?9  I  says.  'You  must  be 
drunk!  Why,  he  don't  bring  a  ten  case 


CLASS  255 

note.  Everybody's  hep  he's  a  bolter. 
Now  listen!  This  is  a  real  good  colt,  'n' 
I  know  it;  but  the  bunch  don't.  That 
boy  of  mine  can  ride  him.  If  you  gives 
the  colt  another  chance  with  my  boy  up, 
he  shows  'em  somethin'.  Then  you  can 
get  a  price  fur  him.' 

1  'Do  what  you  like  with  him,'  says 
Ike.  'But  I  don't  pay  out  another  simo- 
leon  on  him!  I'm  through  right  now!' 

'  'Give  me  half  what  he  wins  his  next 
out  'n'  /'//  take  a  chance  with  him,'  I 
says. 

'You're  on,'  says  Ike.    'But  you  pay 
the  entrance.' 

1  'Surest  thing  you  know,'  I  says,  'n' 
goes  over  to  the  stalls. 

"In  two  weeks  there's  to  be  a  handi- 
cap fur  two-year-olds.  It's  worth  three 
thousand  to  the  winner.  It's  the  best 
baby  race  at  the  meetin'.  Hamilton'll 
come  in  awful  light  'n'  he'll  get  five 
pounds  apprentice  allowance  fur  Micky; 


256  BLISTER  JONES 

but  it'll  put  a  big  crimp  in  my  roll  to 
pay  the  entrance.  I  studies  over  it  some 
'n'  I  gets  cold  feet.  It  takes  three  hun- 
dred bones  to  sit  in.  I've  about  decided 
it's  too  rich  fur  my  blood,  when  next 
work-out  day  comes  'n'  Hamilton  works 
four  furlongs,  with  Micky  up,  like  a 
cyclone.  That  gets  my  circulation  goin' 
'n'  I  takes  a  shot  at  it. 

'Who's  burning  this  up  on  the  ten 
mile  wonder?'  says  the  sec.  to  me,  when 
I'm  payin'  the  entrance.  'The  work 
seems  a  little  coarse  for  my  old  friend 
Ike.' 

!  'I'm  Smiling  Faces  this  load  of  poles,' 
I  says. 

'"Why,  Blister,'  says  the  sec.  'I 
never  thought  it  of  you!  But  we're 
much  obliged  to  you  just  the  same.' 

"There's  eight  starters  in  the  handicap 
besides  Hamilton.  One  of  'em's  a  big 
clumsy  colt  named  Hellespont.  The 
bunch  calls  him  the  Elephant,  'n'  he's 


CLASS  257 

sour  as  lemons.  I  see  his  eyes  a-rollin' 
in  the  paddock,  'n'  I  know  he's  hopped. 
Just  as  the  parade  starts  he  begins  to 
cut  the  mustard.  He  rears  'n'  tries  to 
come  down  all  spraddled  out  on  the  colt 
ahead  of  him  in  the  line,  but  the  jock 
runs  him  into  a  stall  'n'  they  take  hold 
of  him  till  the  rest  is  out  on  the  track. 

"Micky  ain't  had  no  experience  at  the 
post.  I've  borrowed  a  pair  of  glasses 
'n'  I'm  watchin'  the  get-a-way  pretty 
anxious.  Hamilton's  actin'  fine,  but  the 
Elephant  is  holdin'  up  the  start.  All  of 
a  sudden  he  rears  clear  up  'n'  comes 
down  across  Hamilton.  The  colt  does 
a  flop  'n'  I  see  the  Elephant  rear  'n' 
stamp  him  a  couple  a  times  before  the 
assistant  drives  him  off  with  the  bull 
whip. 

1  'Good-by,  three  hundred!'  I  says 
to  myself.  I  can't  see  good  fur  the  dust, 
but  they  pulls  Micky  out  from  under 
the  colt,  'n'  when  I  gets  another  slant, 


258  BLISTER  JONES 

Hamilton's  on  his  feet  'n'  the  starter's 
talkin'  at  Micky.  I  can  see  Micky 
shakin'  his  head.  It  ain't  long  till  they 
puts  him  up  again. 

"  That's  the  good  game  kid!'  I  says 
out  loud.  'Oh,  you  'Micky  boy!'  also 
out  loud. 

"They  get  off  to  a  nice  start.  When 
they  hit  the  stretch  I  throws  my  hat 
away.  Hamilton's  in  front  two  lengths. 
A  eighth  from  home  I  see  there's  some- 
thin'  wrong  with  Micky.  He's  got  his 
bat_'n'  lines  in  his  left  mitt.  His  right 
hook  is  kind-a  floppin'  at  his  side,  but 
Hamilton's  runnin'  true  'n'  strong.  The 
colt  looks  awful  good  to  the  sixteenth 
'n'  then  his  gait  goes  clear  to  the  bad.  I 
see  he's  all  shot  to  pieces  behind,  'n' 
he's  stoppin'  fast.  I'm  standin'  at  the 
inner  rail  ten  len'ths  from  the  wire,  'n' 
the  Elephant  colt  gets  to  Hamilton  right 
in  front  of  me. 

1  *I  gotcha,  jock!'  yells  the  boy  on 
the  Elephant. 


g 
15 
o. 
E 


CLASS  259 

"  'They  don't  pay  off  here,'  says  Micky, 
'n'  sticks  the  lines  in  his  face.  Then  he 
goes  to  the  bat  with  his  south  hook  'n' 
Hamilton  lays  back  his  ears  'n'  runs 
true  again.  .  .  .  He  out-games  the 
Elephant  a  nod  at  the  wire  'n'  I'm  twelve 
hundred  to  the  clear. 

"When  I  gets  to  'em,  Micky's  standin' 
in  the  track  leanin'  against  Hamilton. 
The  colt's  shakin'  all  over  'n'  his  hind 
feet's  in  a  big  pool  of  blood.  I  gives  a* 
look  'n'  the  left  rear  tendon  is  tore  off 
from  hock  to  fetlock. 

£  'Good  God,  look  at  that!'  I  says  to 
Micky. 

"Micky  turns  'n'  looks. 

6  'Aw,  pony  .  .  .  he  says,  'n' 
busts  out  cry  in'.  He  leans  up  against 
the  colt  again  'n'  he's  shakin'  as  bad  as 
Hamilton. 

"Just  then  the  boy  gets  down  from 
the  Elephant. 

f  'I'd  a  beat  that  dog  in  another 
jump,'  he  says  to  Micky. 


260  BLISTER  JONES 

'You?'  says  Micky.  Tin  goin'  to 
kill  you!f  He  starts  fur  the  boy,  but  he 
turns  kind-a  greeny  white  'n'  does  a 
flop  on  the  track. 

"When  I  goes  to  pick  him  up  I  see  a 
bone  comin'  through  the  flesh  just  above 
the  wrist  on  his  right  hook. 

"We  puts  him  in  a  blanket  'n'  the 
swipes  start  to  carry  him  off. 

"  'What's  the  matter  with  the  kid?' 
says  Ike  comin'  up. 

'  'Arm  broke,  I  guess,'     I  says. 

"Ike  sees  the  blood  'n'  walks  behind 
Hamilton. 

!  'I  wish  it  was  his  neck,'  he  says, 
pointin'  at  the  tendon.  'That's  what 
you  get  fur  puttin'  a  pin-headed  ap- 
prentice on  a  good  hoss!  Get  him  so  he 
can  hobble,  'n'  sell  him  to  a  livery  if 
you  can.  If  not,  have  him  shot.' 

"Hamilton's  standin'  there  a-shakin'. 
His  eyes  has  the  look  you  always  sees  in 
in  a  hoss  just  after  he's  ruined. 


CLASS  261 

"  'What'll  you  take  fur  him?'  I  says 
to  Ike. 

"  'Take  fur  him?'  he  says.  'Whatever 
he'll  bring.  I  ain't  out  nothin'  on  him. 
I  splits  three  thousand  with  you  to  the 
race.' 

"  'You  owe  me  a  hundred  'n*  thirty 
fur  trainin','  I  says.  'I  calls  it  off  V 
keeps  the  hoss.' 

"  'You've  bought  him/  says  Ike,  'n' 
goes  back  to  the  bettin'  shed. 

"They  take  Micky  to  the  hospital. 
The  doc  says  his  arm's  broke  *n*  he's 
hurt  inside.  He  comes  to  before  they 
puts  him  in  the  ambulance. 

"  'Why  didn't  you  let  another  boy 
ride?'  says  the  assistant  starter,  who's 
helpin'  the  doc. 

"'Ride  hell!'  says  Micky.  'He  runs 
off  with  them  other  boobs.' 

"Me  'n'  Peewee  Simpson  gets  Hamilton 
to  the  stall.  It  takes  him  just  one  hour 
to  do  that  hundred  yards,  but  I've  got 


262  BLISTER  JONES 

a  tight  bandage  above  the  hock  'n*  he 
don't  bleed  so  bad. 

'  'Can  you  get  him  so  he  can  walk?' 
I  says  to  the  vet.  when  he's  looked  at 
the  colt. 

'Yes,'  he  says;  'but  that'll  be  about 
all  for  him.  I  advise  you  to  have  him 
destroyed.  What  hoss  is  this?' 

6  'Hamilton,'  I  says.  'He  just  wins 
the  colt  race.' 

"'So?'    he    says.      'I    didn't    see    it. 
When  did  this  happen?' 

'  'At  the  post,'  I  says.  'Another  colt 
jumped  on  him.' 

'  'At  the  post?'  he  says.     'I  thought 
you  said  he  won?' 
"  'He  did,'  I  says. 

'  'On  that?9  he  says,  pointin'  to  the 
leg.  'What  you  tryin'  to  do,  kid  me?' 

'  'I'm  tellin'  it  to  you  just  as  she  hap- 
pens,' I  says.     'It  don't  matter  a  damn 
to   me  whether  you   believe  it  [or  not!' 
'Why,  you  ain't  kiddin',  are  you?' 
he  says.     'Wait  a  minute — ' 


CLASS  263 

"He  goes  outside  'n'  I  see  him  talkin' 
to  several. 

'  'It's  straight,'  he  says,  when  he 
comes  back.  'But  it  ain't  possible!' 

'Who  owns  this  colt?'  he  says,  after 
he's  looked  at  the  leg  some  more. 

"  'I  do,'  I  says.  'I  just  give  a  hundred 
'n'  thirty  fur  him.' 

"  'What  did  you  ever  buy  him  for?'  he 
says. 

"I  studies  a  minute,  a-lookin'  at  Ham- 
ilton. 

"  'I've  got  softenin'  of  the  brain,  I 
guess,'  I  says. 

"  'He's  a  nice  made  thing,'  says  the 
vet.  'How's  he  bred?' 

"I  tells  him,  'n'  he  looks  at  the  leg 
some  more,  'n'  then  walks  'round  the 
colt  a  couple  a  times. 

1  'I  tell  you  what  I'll  do,'  he  says 
after  while.  'I'll  take  him  off  your  hands 
at  just  what  you  paid.  I'm  givin'  it  to 
you  straight — this  hoss  won't  never  do 
more  than  walk.  But  h^'s  bred  out  a 


264  BLISTER  JONES 

sight  V  I  like  his  looks.  There's  a  chance 
somebody  could  use  him  in  the  stud. 
I'm  willin'  to  get  him  in  some  sort-a 
shape  'n'  see  if  I  can't  make  a  piece  of 
money  on  him.  What  do  you  say?' 

'Well,'  I  says,  'you're  fixed  better  to 
get  him  in  shape'n  me.  I  just  wanted  to 
give  the  little  hoss  a  show.  If  you'll 
give  it  to  him,  he's  yours.' 

'  'Here's  your  money,'  says  the  vet. 
Til  send  my  wagon  for  him  to-morrow. 
Let  me  have  a  lantern  till  I  get  this  leg 
so  it  won't  hurt  him  so  bad  to-night.' 

"The  next  day  every  paper  I  picks  up 
has  a  great  big  write-up  in  it  about 
Micky  'n'  the  colt.  Until  the  wagon 
comes  fur  him  there's  a  regular  proces- 
sion to  the  stall  to  look  at  Hamilton, 
'n'  when  I  goes  to  the  hospital  that  night 
you  can't  see  Micky  fur  flowers  around 
his  bed. 

"  'Hell!'  says  Micky.  T)o  they  think 
I'm  a  stiff?' 


CLASS  265 

"  'Sh-h-h!'  says  the  sister  that's  nurs- 
in'  him. 

"I  don't  see  Hamilton  fur  a  month. 
One  day  I  goes  over  to  the  big  Eastern 
sale  at  New  York,  just  to  hear  ole  Pappy 
Danforth  sell  'em.  Pappy's  stood  on  a 
block  all  his  life.  He  knows  every  hoss- 
man  in  the  country.  When  he  tells  you 
about  a  hoss,  it's  right;  'n'  everybody 
takes  his  tip.  He  just  about  sells  'em 
where  they  ought  to  go. 

* 'There's  a  fierce  crowd  at  the  sale  'n' 
some  grand  stuff  goes  under  the  hammer. 
Pappy  kids  the  crowd  along  'n'  sells  'em 
so  fast  it  makes  you  dizzy.  They 
don't  more'n  lead  a  hoss  out  till  he's 
gone. 

"All  of  a  sudden  Pappy  climbs  clear  up 
on  the  desk  in  front  of  him  'n'  stands 
there  a  minute,  pushin'  back  his  long 
white  hair. 

"  'Na-ow,  boys!'  he  says.  'I'm  goin' 
to  sell  you  a  three-legged  hoss!  An'- 


266  BLISTER  JONES 

listen  to  the  ole  man — he's  wuth  more'n 
any  four-legged  hoss,  livin'  or  dead!' 

"I  rubbers  hard  to  get  a  look  at  a  hoss 
Pappy  boosts  like  that,  'n'  I  nearly  croaks 
when  they  lead  Hamilton  into  the  ring. 
The  colt's  a  dink,  right.  He's  stiff  as  a 
poker  behind,  but  he's  still  got  that 
game-cock  look  to  his  eye. 

'Na-ow,  boys!'  sings  out  Pappy, 
'there's  the  biggest  little  hoss  ever  you 
saw!  Don't  look  at  him — any  of  you 
fellahs  that  wants  a  yellah  dawg  to  win 
a  cheap  race  with!  He  ain't  in  that  class. 
Step  forwahd,  you  breeders,  an'  grasp 
a  golden  opportunity!  Send  the  best 
brood  mares  you've  got  to  this  little  hoss 
.  .  .  he's  a  giant!  You  hear  me — a 
giant!  Ed  Trimble,  I'm  talkin'  to  you! 
I'm  talkin'  to  you,  Bill  Masters — an' 
Harry  Scott  there  .  .  .  an'  Judge 
Dillon  .  .  .  an'  all  you  big  breed- 
ers! You've  read  what  this  little  hoss 
done  in  the  newspapers.  You  can  see 


CLASS  267 

his  breedin'  in  your  catalogues.  You 
can  look  him  over  as  he  stands  there! 
But  best  of  all — listen  to  the  old  mail/ 
when  he  tells  you  he  never  held  a  ham- 
mer over  a  better  one  in  fifty  years. 
Na-ow,  boys!  I'm  goin'  to  sell  him  for 
the  high  dollah,  an'  the  man  who  gets 
him  at  any  price  .  .  .  you  hear  me — 
at  any  price!  ...  is  goin'  to  have 
the  laugh  on  the  rest  of  you  fellahs! 
Aw-1-1  right — what  do  I  hear?* 

"  *Five  hundred!'  says  some  guy. 

'"Why,  Frank,  five  hundred  won't 
buy  a  hair  out  of  his  tail  .  .  .  what 
do  I  hear?9  says  Pappy. 

'Two  thousand!'  yells  somebody. 
1  "Na-ow  listen,  Tom,  if  you  want  the 
little  hoss,  cut  out  this  triflin'  an'  bid  for 
him/  says  Pappy.    What  do  I  hear?' 
'  'Five   thousand!"   some  guy  hollers. 

"  That's  just  a  nice  little  start  .  .  . 
what  do  I  hcurf  says  Pappy,  V  I  goes 
into  a  trance. 


268  BLISTER  JONES 

"I  don't  come  to  till  I  hears  Pappy 
sing  out: 

"  'So-o-ld  to  you  for  sixteen  thousand 
dollahs,  Mr.  Humphrey,  an'  you  never 
bought  a  cheaper  one!' 

"It's  a  wonder  I  ain't  run  over  gettin' 
to  the  depot.  I  don't  know  where  I'm 
at.  I  just  keeps  sayin'  'sixteen  thousand 
— sixteen  thousand — '  over  'n'  over  to 
myself.  I  beats  it  out  to  the  hospital 
when  I  gets  back,  to  tell  Micky.  They're 
goin'  to  let  him  out  in  a  day  or  so  'n' 
Micky's  settin'  up  in  a  chair  with  wheels 
to  it. 

"  'Give  a  guess  what  Hamilton  brings 
in  the  Big  Eastern,'  I  says  to  him. 

"  'I  dunno,'  says  he.     'How  much?' 

"'Sixteen  thousand  bucks!'  I  says. 
'How  does  that  lay  on  your  stummick?' 

"  'Hell!'  says  Micky.  'That  ain't  noth- 
in' — look-a-here !' 

"He  shoves  a  paper  at  me  he's  been 
holdin'  in  his  mitt.  It's  a  ridin'  contract 


CLASS  269 

fur  two  years  with  the  Ogden  stable  at 
ten  thousand  a  year. 

"So  you  see,  just  like  I  tells  you," 
Blister  wound  up,  "they  lay  down  real 
money  fur  class." 

"The  man  who  bought  the  horse,"  I 
said,  "certainly  got  what  he  paid  for — 
everybody  knows  now  that  Hamilton 
has  class.  But  how  about  the  boy?" 

"Did  you  ever  see  Vincent  ride?" 
Blister  looked  at  me  inquiringly. 

"I  saw  him  ride  once  in  the  English 
Derby,"  I  replied.  "Why?" 

"Well,"  said  Blister,  "his  mother  lives 
in  New  York  in  a  brownstone  house  he 
bought  her,  with  two  Swede  girls  to  do 
as  much  work  as  she'll  let  'em.  When 
he  comes  home,  she  calls  him  'Micky.' 
Is  there  class  to  him?" 

"Yes,"  I  said,  "there's  class  to  him." 


EXIT  BUTSY 


a11  them  rubes 
bons  on  'em  fur?"  asked  Blister. 

I  followed  his  gaze  to  a  group  of  vari- 
iously  garbed  men  and  women  who  had 
just  rounded  the  paddock,  and  who  slow- 
ly bore  down  upon  us  as  they  drifted 
from  stall  to  stall  in  a  haphazard  inspec- 
tion of  the  great  racing  plant  at  Latonia. 
Prominent  upon  the  person  of  each 
member  of  this  party  was  a  bountiful 
strip  of  yellow  ribbon.  The  effect  was 
decidedly  gay. 

I  had  encountered  similar  ribbons  in 
every  nook  and  cranny  of  the  Queen 
City  during  the  last  few  days,  and  I 
knew  that  each  bore  in  thirty-six  point 
Gothic  condensed,  the  words,  "Ohio 
State  Grange." 

"Those    are   Ohio   farmers    and    their 
wives  who  are  attending  a  convention 
270 


EXIT  BUTSY  271 

in  Cincinnati,"  I  explained.  "The  rib- 
bons are  convention  badges." 

Blister  allowed  the  saddle  girth  he 
was  mending  to  lie  unnoticed  across  his 
knees  as  the  delegates  by  twos  and  threes 
straggled  past. 

Each  female  member  of  the  party 
carried  a  round  paper  fan  with  a  cane 
handle,  and  talked  unceasingly.  These 
streams  of  conversation  were  entirely 
regardless  of  one  another.  It  was  as 
though  many  brooks  babbled  onward 
side  by  side,  but  never  joined.  One 
fragment  that  reached  us,  I  preserved. 

"An'  I  sez  to  the  doctor  when  he 
come,  sez  I,  'Doctor,  I  ain't  held  a  bite 
on  my  stummick  these  three  livelong 
days!'  This  was  delivered  by  a  buxom 
dame,  fanning  vigorously  the  meanwhile, 
and  was  noteworthy  since  the  lady  was 
closely  followed  by  a  little  man  whose 
frailty  suggested  dissolution,  and  who 
bore  a  large  lunch  box  under  one  arm 
and  a  heavy  child  upon  the  other. 


272  BLISTER  JONES 

The  men  appeared  somewhat  interest- 
ed in  the  pampered  nervous-looking 
thoroughbreds,  but  made  few  comments. 
As  compared  to  their  women  folk  they 
seemed  more  silent  than  the  very  tomb 
itself. 

Long  after  the  grangers  had  drifted 
out  of  our  sight,  Blister's  thoughts  seemed 
devoted  to  them.  Several  times  he  chuck- 
led to  himself. 

* 'Every  time  I  see  a  bunch  of  rubes," 
he  said  at  last,  "it  puts  me  in  mind  of 
Butsy  Trimble  V  the  new  stalls  at  Lake 
Minnehaha  Park." 

"Lake  Minnehaha  Park,"  I  repeated. 
"I  never  heard  of  such  a  place." 

"It's  up  at  Mount  Clinton,"  Blister 
explained.  "It's  Ohio's  beauty  spot." 

"Get  out!"  I  scoffed. 

"Fact!"  said  Blister.  "It  says  so 
right  over  the  gates." 

"Tell  me  about  it,"  I  demanded. 

"This  ain't  been  so  long  ago,"  said 
Blister.  "The  meetin'  here  at  Latonia 


EXIT  BUTSY  273 

is  about  over.  Ole  Whiskers  has  put  the 
game  on  the  fritz  in  New  York,  so  every- 
body's studyin'  where  to  ship  when  get- 
away day  comes,  'n'  the  whole  bunch  is 
sore  as  bears — you  can't  get  a  pleasant 
word  from  nobody. 

"All  I  got  in  my  string  is  some  two- 
year-olds  of  Judge  Dillon's.  They  go 
back  to  the  farm  when  the  meetin' 
closes,  so  I  ain't  worried  none — not  about 
where  to  ship. 

"One  night  me  V  Peewee  Simpson  is 
playin'  pitch  on  a  bale  of  hay  with  a 
lantern.  Butsy  Trimble  is  settin'  be- 
side the  bale  readin'  a  hoss  paper. 

"  'Gimme  high,  jack,  game — '  says 
Peewee,  after  a  hand. 

"  Til  give  you  a  poke  in  the  nose!'  I 
says.  'What  you  got  fur  game?' 

"  'I  s'pose  you  want  to  count  fur 
game — don't  you?'  says  Peewee.  Til 
give  it  to  you  sooner 'n  argue  with  you.' 

"  'You're  right,  you'll  give  it  to  me,' 
I  says. 


274  BLISTER  JONES 

"'Well,  I  said  I'd  give  it  to  you, 
didn't  I?'  says  Peewee.  'You'd  rather 
argue'n  eat,  wouldn't  you?' 

'  'All  that's  wrong  with  you,'  I  says, 
'is  you're  sore  'cause  you  can't  hog 
game !' 

"Peewee  lays  down  his  cards. 

c  'Now,  look  a  here,  you  freckle-faced 
shrimp!'  he  says.  'Get  off  this  bale  of 
hay — it'll  poison  a  hoss  if  you  set  on  it 
much  longer!' 

'Whose  bale  of  hay  do  you  think 
this  is?'  I  says.  'You  tryin'  to  hog  it  like 
you  does  game?' 

'  'Gimme  my  lantern  'n'  I'll  be  on 
my  way,'  says  Peewee. 

"  'I  puts  the  oil  in  that  lantern,'  I 
says,  '  'n'  she  sets  right  where  she  is 
till  she  makes  her  last  flicker/ 

'  'Cut  it!  Cut  it!'  says  Butsy,  spread- 
in'  out  his  hoss  paper.  'Act  like  you  has 
some  sense,  'n'  I  puts  you  hep  to  a  hot 
scheme  I  gets  out  of  this  paper — us  three 
can  pull  it  off  to  a  finish!' 


EXIT  BUTSY  275 

"  'I  don't  want  in  on  no  scheme  with 
that  lantern  snatcher!'  says  Peewee  then 
to  me. 

"  'If  you  don't  age  some,'  I  says  to 
Peewee,  'nursie'll  come  around  here,  'n* 
put  a  nice  fresh  panty-waist  on  you!' 

"Then  Butsy  goes  ahead  'n'  tells  us 
the  frame-up.  He  shows  us  an  ad  in  his 
paper  askin'  fur  entries  to  race  over  the 
Ohio  Short  Ship  Circuit.  This  circuit 
is  a  bunch  of  race  meets  that's  held 
on  the  bull  rings  at  county  fairs  up 
through  the  state.  They're  trottin'  races 
mostly,  but  they  give  one  runnin'  race 
at  a  different  town  each  week. 

"  'Now,'  says  Butsy,  'I'm  born  'n' 
raised  in  Mount  Clinton,  Ohio.  I  sees 
the  race  meet  there  frequent  'n'  she's  a 
peach.  You  can  have  a  hoss  lay  down  'n' 
go  to  sleep  on  the  track  if  you  don't 
want  him  to  win  'n'  then  tell  the  judges 
he's  got  spring  fever.  Everything  goes  ex- 
cept murder.  We'll  take  that  black  stud 
of  mine  'n'  Peewee's  bay  geldin'  'n'  hit 


276  BLISTER  JONES 

this  punkin  circuit.  We  can  win  a  purse 
each  week  fur  travelin'  expenses,  'n'  what 
we  cops  on  the  side  is  velvet.' 

'What  do  you  want  me  fur?'  I  says. 
'Why/  says  Butsy,  'at  these  county 
fairs  there  ain't  no  bookies.  They  just 
bets  from  hand  to  hand.  While  me  'n' 
Peewee  rides,  you  sashay  out  among  the 
rubes  'n'  get  the  coin  down  on  which- 
ever hoss  we  frames  to  win.' 

"We  sets  there  'n'  talks  over  the  prop- 
osition most  all  night.  Butsy  says  it's  a 
cinch  'n'  it  ain't  long  till  me  'n'  Peewee 
figgers  he's  got  it  doped  right. 

'  'Let's  go  against  it,  Blister,'  Peewee 
says  to  me.    'What  do  you  say,  old  pal?' 

"  'I'm  there  with  bells  on,'  I  says,  'n' 
that  settles  it.  I  ships  my  colts  to  Judge 
Dillon,  'n'  the  next  week  we  start. 

"These  punkin  races  is  all  half-mile 
dashes,  best  two  out  of  three.  Peewee's 
geldin'  is  a  distance  hoss — he  don't  get 
goin'  good  under  a  mile.  In  a  bull-ring 


EXIT  BUTSY  277 

sprint  he  ain't  got  a  chance  with  this 
black  stud  of  Butsy's. 

"Our  game  is  to  have  Butsy  turn  his 
dash-hound  loose  the  first  heat.  Then 
I  ambulates  out  among  the  rubes  'n' 
acts  like  I'm  willing  to  bet  on  the  bay 
geldin'.  If  I  finds  a  live  one,  Butsy  takes 
his  hoss  up  in  his  lap  the  last  two  trips 
'n'  Peewee  comes  on  'n'  grabs  the  gravy. 

"We  figger  the  rubes'll  eat  it  up  after 
seein'  that  nice-lookin'  black  stud  romp 
away  with  the  first  heat.  But  right  there 
the  dope  falls  down — the  rubes  ain't  as 
dead  as  they  look. 

"In  the  first  town  we  strike  I  eases  up 
to  a  tall  Jasper  after  the  black  hoss  has 
grabbed  the  opener  on  the  bit. 

c  'Say,  pardner,'  I  says,  'do  you  ever 
bet  a  piece  of  money  on  a  race?' 

"This  Jasper  is  just  a  Adam's  apple 
surrounded  by  arms  'n'  legs. 

'Well,   I   should   say   as   much,'   he 
says.      'But   most   ginrally   they    wan't 


278  BLISTER  JONES 

nobody   bet   with   me.     Up   in   Liberty 
Township  the  boys  call  me  Lucky  Andy.' 

'  'It's  a  crime  to  do  this!'  I  says  to 
myself.  Til  make  a  little  bet  with  you, 
pardner,'  I  says  out  loud.  'Not  much 
though — you're  too  lucky!' 

1  'How  was  ye  calkewlatin'  to  bet?' 
says  the  Jasper. 

'This  black  boss  acted  kind-a  tired 
to  me,'  I  says.  'I'll  just  bet  you  twenty 
bucks  he  don't  win  the  race.' 

'You  look  like  a  smart  little  cuss,' 
he  says.  'What's  good  enough  fer  you 
is  good  enough  fer  me.'  He  beats  it 
over  to  where  another  rube  is  settin'  in 
a  buggy.  'Hi,  Bill!'  says  my  Jasper, 
Til  just  bet  ye  fifty  cents  the  black 
hawse  dun't  win  the  race — even  if  I  do 
lose!' 

"That's  the  way  it  goes  right  along — 
the  rubes  stay  away  from  it.  Once  in  a 
while  I  finds  a  mark  but  not  often.  We 
win  a  purse  though  in  every  town  'n* 


EXIT  BUTSY  279 

this  just  about  pays  expenses.  We  ain't 
rnakin'  nothin'  much,  but  we  ain't  losin' 
nothin'  neither.  We're  eatin'  regular  'n' 
enjoyin'  ourselves,  except  Butsy.  He 
wouldn't  enjoy  hisself  at  a  dog  fight. 

"This  Butsy  Trimble  is  a  thin  solemn 
gink  'n'  he  almost  never  cracks  a  smile. 
He's  got  it  doped  out  that  everybody's 
agin  him.  Peewee  'n'  me  has  knocked 
around  together  so  much  we  knows  each 
other's  ways,  but  we  ain't  never  had 
much  to  do  with  this  Butsy,  so  we  ain't 
wise  to  him  at  first. 

"It  ain't  long  till  Butsy  begins  to  fig- 
ger  we're  tryin'  to  hand  it  to  him.  He 
gets  sour-balled  about  everythin'  we 
does.  We  try  to  kid  him,  but  he  ain't  hep 
to  a  kid  'n'  he  don't  stand  fur  it  like  he'd 
ought.  His  favorite  stunt  is  to  say  he'll 
take  his  hoss  'n'  quit.  He  springs  this 
right  along. 

"From  the  start  this  trip  gets  to  Pee- 
wee's  funny  bone.  He  don't  do  nothin' 


280  BLISTER  JONES 

but  laugh.  Butsy  don't  see  nothin' 
funny  about  it,  V  he  gets  to  thinkin* 
Peewee's  laughin*  at  him. 

"Peewee'll  lay  in  the  stall  at  night  'n' 
laugh  'n'  laugh.  Pretty  soon  he'll  get  me 
goin',  'n'  then  we'll  lay  'n'  snort  fur  a 
hour.  Butsy  can't  go  to  sleep  'n'  he  gets 
wild. 

"  'What  th'  hell  are  you  laughin'  at?' 
he  says.  'If  you  don't  cut  this  out  'n'  let 
me  get  my  rest  I'll  quit  the  game  to- 
morrow !' 

"It  gets  so  I  don't  dare  look  at  Peewee 
fur  fear  we'll  get  started  'n'  Butsy '11  quit. 

"At  a  burg  called  Mansfield  I  finds  a 
good  bunch  of  live  ones  'n'  we  grabs  off 
three  hundred  life-savers.  It  seems  to 
help  Butsy  a  lot — he  acts  more  cheerful 
right  away. 

'  'Cherries  are  ripe,'  he  says.  'Our 
next  town's  Mount  Clinton.  I  know 
every  boob  in  it.  We'll  sift  some  change 
out  of  them  Knox  ^County  plow-pushers.' 


EXIT  BUTSY  281 

"We  ships  over  the  B.  &  O.  to  Mount 
Clinton.  It's  rainin'  when  we  unloads, 
V  Butsy  ain't  as  cheerful  as  he  was. 

1  'How  far  is  it  to  the  track?'  Peewee 
says  to  him. 

"  'About  three  miles  V  all  hills,'  says 
Butsy. 

£  'How  do  you  get  out?'  says  Peewee. 

'We  could  take  the    street-car  if  it 

wasn't  fur  the  bosses,'  says  Butsy.     'As 

it  is  we'll  have  to  hoof  it  through  the 

mud.' 

"  'Look-a  here/  I  says  to  Butsy, 
'there's  no  sense  in  three  of  us  gettin' 
wet.  You  know  the  way  'n'  we  don't. 
You  take  the  bosses  'n'  we'll  come  out 
on  the  street-car.' 

:  (I  thought  it  'ud  be  like  that,'  says 
Butsy.  'You  two  always  pick  out  the 
soft  stuff  fur  yourselves  'n'  hand  me  the 
lemons.  I  guess  I'll  just  put  my  hoss 
back  in  the  freight  car  'n'  be  on  my  way.' 

"  'Now,   Butsy,'   I   says,   'have  some 


282  BLISTER  JONES 

sense!  We  ain't  slippin'  you  nothin'. 
I'd  take  the  dogs  V  leave  you  'n'  Pee- 
wee  ride  if  I  knew  the  way.  What  do 
you  want  to  make  a  crack  about  quittin' 
fur  just  as  the  game's  gettin'  good?'  I 
says.  'We  cops  a  neat  little  bundle  at 
our  last  stop,  'n'  we'll  grab  a  nice  piece 
of  change  here.  I  feel  it  in  my  bones/ 
"  'All  right,'  says  Butsy.  'I'll  be  the 
goat  just  once  more — but  take  it  from 
me  this  is  the  last  time!' 

'  'Send  a  wagon  fur  the  trunk  when 
you  get  up-town,'  I  says  to  Butsy  when 
he's  goin'. 

'Furget  it!'  he  says.  Tut  her  on  the 
street-car.  The  car  runs  right  into 
Minnehaha  Park  'n'  you  can  unload  her 
in  front  of  the  stalls.' 

'You  can't  take  a  trunk  on  a  street- 
car,' I  says. 

'Wait  till  you  see  this  street-car,' 
says  Butsy. 

"  'Ain't  they  but  one?'  says  Peewee. 


EXIT  BUTSY  283 

"  'That's  all,'  says  Butsy.  'Orphy 
Shanner  runs  it.' 

"Me  and  Pee  wee  stands  a-waitin'  fur 
the  street-car  fur  thirty  minutes,  then 
I  goes  into  the  freight  depot  office. 

'  'Is  the  street-car  runnin'?'  I  says 
to  the  old  gazink  at  the  desk. 

'Ye  can't  rightly  call  it  runnin','  he 
says.  'It  ain't  been  settled  yet.  Some 
claims  she  dun't,  some  claims  she  do. 
Them  that  claims  she  dun't  is  those 
who've  rid  on  her.' 

'Well,  whatever  she  does,*  I  says, 
'will  she  get  here  this  mawnin'?  I  got 
to  get  to  the  race  track.' 

'  'I'll  call  up  Orphy  an'  see,'  says  the 
old  gazink.  'Hello,  Tessie,'  he  says, 
after  he  grinds  away  at  the  telephone 
handle  fur  a  while.  'Git  a-holt  of  Orphy 
Shanner  fer  me  out  to  th'  park — that's 
a  good  girl.'  In  about  ten  minutes 
somebody  begins  to  talk  over  the  phone. 
'Say,  Orphy,  this  is  Ed  at  the  B.  &  O. 


284  BLISTER  JONES 

Freight/  says  the  old  gazink.  'I  got  a 
passenger  down  here  fer  ye.'  Then  lie 
listens  at  the  phone.  'I  don't  know  who 
he  is.  He's  a  stranger  tu  me,'  he  says,  'n' 
listens  some  more.  'All  right,  I'll  tell 
him,'  he  says,  'n'  hangs  up  the  phone. 

"  'Orphy  says  fer  me  to  tell  ye  thet 
he's  comin'  in  to  get  Mrs.  Boone  at  the 
Public  Square  at  eleven  o'clock,'  he  says 
to  me.  'He's  goin'  to  take  her  out 
High  Street  to  a  whisk  party  at  Mrs. 
Rucker's,  an'  he'll  come  down  here  an' 
git  ye  then.' 

"'Why,  it  ain't  ten  o'clock  yet,'  I 
says. 

"  'Well,  you  kin  set  in  here  out  of  the 
rain  an'  wait,'  he  says. 

"I  thinks  we  better  walk  'n'  then  I 
remembers  that  cussed  trunk. 

"  'Much  obliged,'  I  says.  'I'll  go  out 
'n'  get  my  friend.' 

"  'Be  they  two  of  ye?'  says  he.  'Jeeru- 
salem,  I  told  Orphy  they  wa'n't  but  one.' 


EXIT  BUTSY  285 

"When  I  gets  back  with  Peewee,  the 
old  gazink  pushes  a  couple  of  chairs  at 
us. 

"  'Set  right  down,  boys,'  he  says,  '  'n' 
make  yourselves  mis'able.'  Then  he 
puts  a  chew  in  his  face  that  would  choke 
a  he-elephant  'n'  begins  to  ask  us  ques- 
tions. The  only  thing  he  don't  ask  us 
he  don't  think  of.  He'll  stop  right  in  the 
middle  of  a  word  'n'  say,  'pit-too-ee,'  'n' 
hit  a  flat  box  full  of  sawdust  dead  center. 
I  don't  see  him  miss  once.' 

"After  he's  got  us  pumped  dry  he  be- 
gins to  tell  us  what  he  knows,  'n'  believe 
me  he's  got  a  directory  beat  to  a  custard. 
He  hands  us  some  info  about  everybody 
who's  alive  in  Mount  Clinton  'n'  then 
starts  in  on  the  cemetery.  He  works 
back  till  he's  talkin'  about  some  'dead 
an'  gone  these  twenty  year,'  as  he  says. 

"I  happens  to  look  at  Peewee — Pee- 
wee's  in  a  trance.  He  can't  look  away. 
He's  noddin'  his  head  'n'  his  eyes  has 


286  BLISTER  JONES 

got  a  glassy  stare.     I  goes  outside  quick 
'n'  lays  up  against  the  side  of  the  buildin'. 

"When  I  get  back  the  old  gazink  is  still 
workin'  on  Peewee,  but  all  of  a  sudden 
he  stops  'n'  listens. 

'  'Pit-too-ee — there's  your  car,  boys!' 
he  says,  'n'  then  I  begins  to  hear  a 
groanin'  sound. 

"Man!  they  ain't  no  way  to  tell  you 
about  that  street-car!  She  falls  to  pieces 
only  they  wraps  all  the  upper  parts  to- 
gether with  wire  till  she  looks  like  a  bird- 
cage. A  big  freckled  guy  with  red  hair 
is  runnin'  her  'n'  I  know  just  by  lookin' 
at  him  it's  Orphy. 

'  'Howdy,  boys,'  he  says  to  us  when 
he  gets  to  where  we're  standin'.  'Jump 
aboard!  I'm  goin'  down  far  as  the 
pumpin'  station  an'  the  brakes  ain't 
workin'  just  like  they'd  ought-a  this 


morninV 


'We've  got  a  trunk,'  I  says. 
'  'Oh!'  he  says,  'n'  spins  the  whirligig. 


EXIT  BUTSY  287 

She  keeps  right  on  goin'.  Then  he  runs 
back  V  yanks  the  trolley  off,  V  she 
begins  to  slow  down.  'Git  your  trunk 
an'  fetch  it  to  where  I  stop  at!'  he  hollers. 
'The  cut-off  ain't  workin'  just  like  it 
ought-a  this  morninV 

"We  lugs  the  trunk  down  to  the  car 
V  puts  her  on  the  back  platform. 

"  'That's  the  way  things  goes!'  says 
Orphy.  'I  hadn't  figgered  on  no  trunk. 
Ed  never  tells  me  nothin'  about  it. 
You  better  set  on  it,'  he  says.  'The 
seats  ain't  just  in  first-class  shape  this 
mornin'.'  I  looks  inside  at  the  seats,  'n' 
he's  got  it  doped  right — some  chickens 
has  spent  the  night  on  'em. 

"After  we  gets  to  goin'  Orphy  pokes 
his  head  in  the  door. 

"  'The  company  don't  allow  me  to 
handle  the  money,'  he  says.  'But  my 
friends  most  gen'ally  drop  the  fare  down 
the  right-hand  side  of  the  slot.' 

"Me  'n'  Peewee  goes  forward  'n'  looks 


288  BLISTER  JONES 

at  the  money  box.  The  front  of  the  car 
has  warped  till  there's  a  big  crack  in  the 
right-hand  side  of  the  box  you  can  see 
the  platform  through.  I  drops  two  nick- 
els in  on  that  side,  'n'  bing !  they  go  down 
the  shoot  V  out  the  crack.  They  falls 
on  the  platform  'n'  Orphy  picks  'em  up 
'n'  goes  south  with  'em. 

'That's  what  I  call  a  live  guy!'  says 
Peewee.     'I'm  proud  to  know  him.' 

Pretty    soon    Orphy    comes    back    'n' 

jerks  the  trolley  off  'n'  we  stop  on  a  big 

square  with  a  monument  in  the  middle. 

'We  got  to  wait  here  at  the  Public 

Square  fer  Mrs.  Boone,'  he  says. 

"In  about  twenty  minutes  here  comes  a 
dame  across  the  Square.  She's  sixteen 
hands  high  'n'  will  girt  according.  She 
belongs  in  the  heavy -draft  class  'n'  she's 
puffin'  some. 

1  'How-dee-do,  Orphy,'  she  says.  'I'm 
a  mite  late,  but  I  didn't  get  shet  of  my 
peach  butter  as  quick  as  I  aimed  to.' 


EXIT  BUTSY  289 

"  That's  all  right,  Missus  Boone,' 
says  Orphy.  'The  company  allows  me 
a  liberal  schedool.  Set  right  down  on 
the  trunk,  Missus  Boone.  I  wouldn't 
resk  the  seats  this  mornin'  if  I  was  you.' 

"  'What's  wrong  with  'em?'  says  Mrs. 
Boone,  'n'  pokes  her  head  in  the  door. 
'Land  a  Liberty!'  she  says.  'I  shall  cer- 
tainly write  to  the  Banner  about  this! 
I  call  it  disgraceful!'  Then  she  sets  down 
on  the  trunk. 

"I'm  standin'  up,  but  Peewee's  still 
on  it.  She  covers  the  whole  trunk,  but  a 
little  corner,  'n'  Peewee  tries  to  set  on 
that. 

"  'Why  don't  you  give  the  lady  some 
room?'  I  says  to  Peewee,  'n'  he  gets  up 
'n'  leaves  her  have  the  trunk. 

'You're   a   real   polite   young   man,' 
says  Mrs.  Boone  to  me. 

"We  ain't  more'n  got  started  when 
the  dame  lets  out  a  holler. 

"'Orphy!'  she  yells.     'Stop!     Wait  a 


290  BLISTER  JONES 

minute!  Whoa!'  Orphy  comes  'n'  yanks 
off  the  trolley. 

"  'I  declare  to  goodness!'  says  Mrs. 
Boone.  'I've  furgot  my  rubbers.  Run 
up  and  get  them  for  me,  Orphy — they're 
behind  the  door  in  the  front  hall.' 

'  Td  like  to  oblige  you  real  well,  Mrs. 
Boone,'  says  Orphy,  'but  the  company 
don't  allow  me  to  leave  the  car  when 
I'm  on  duty— 

'Well,  I  call  lookin'  after  your  cus- 
tomers bein'  on  duty,'  says  Mrs.  Boone. 
'Now,  you  skip  an'  get  my  rubbers, 
Orphy  Shanner!' 

"Orphy  beats  it  fur  the  rubbers. 

"While  he's  gone  Mrs.  Boone  goes  'n' 
drops  a  nickel  down  the  chute,  but  she 
don't  put  it  in  the  right  side  'n'  it  trickles 
down  into  the  box.  When  Orphy  gets 
the  car  started  after  he's  back,  he  turns 
'round  'n'  gives  a  sad  look  at  the  nickel 
in  the  box. 

"  'Stung!'  says  Peewee,  'n'  I  think 
he's  goin'  to  fall  off  the  car. 


EXIT  BUTSY  291 

"  'What  ails  that  young  man?'  says 
Mrs.  Boone  to  me.  'He  seems  to  be 
havin'  a  spell.' 

"  'It  ain't  nothinY  I  says.     'He'll  be 

* 

all  right  in  a  minute.' 

"We  lets  Mrs.  Boone  off  after  while  'n' 
keeps  on  goin'  fur  a  mile  or  so  till  we  come 
to  some  gates.  In  gold  letters  over  the 
gates  is  'Ohio's  Beauty  Spot,'  'n'  below 
that  in  bigger  letters  yet  is  'Lake  Minne- 
haha  Park.'  We  goes  through  these 
gates  'n'  there's  the  track.  More'n  half 
the  center-field  is  took  up  by  a  baseball 
diamond.  In  the  other  half  is  a  pond 
with  a  shoot-the-chutes  runnin'  down  in- 
to it. 

'Where's  the  lake?'  Peewee  says  to 
Orphy. 

:  'Right  in  front  of  your  nose,'  says 
Orphy,  pointin'  at  the  pond. 

'  'She's  some  body  of  water,'  says 
Peewee.  'If  you  ain't  careful  a  big  rough 
guy'll  come  along  here  with  a  tin  cup 
some  dark  night  'n'  go  south  with  her.' 


292  BLISTER  JONES 

"  *I  guess  not,'  says  Orphy.  'She's 
four  feet  deep — in  spots.' 

"When  we  come  in  sight  of  the  stalls, 
there's  Butsy  standin'  in  the  rain  with 
the  hosses.  A  big  bunch  of  Jaspers  is 
holdin'  a  meetin'  out  in  front  of  a  row 
of  bran'-new  stalls  that's  just  been  put  up. 
There's  a  hot  argument  goin'  on  'n'  they 
don't  pay  no  attention  to  the  rain. 

'You  gone  dippy?'  I  says  to  Butsy. 
'What  are  you  standin'  out  hi  the  rain 
with  the  dogs  fur?  Why  don't  you  put 
'em  up?' 

"  'No  chance/  says  Butsy.  'All  the 
stalls  is  took  except  these  new  ones,  'n' 
the  guy  who  furnished  the  lumber  fur 
*em  won't  unlock  'em  till  he's  paid.' 

"I  looks  at  the  stalls — there's  a  great 
big  padlock  on  each  door. 

'Why  don't  they  slip  him  the  coin?' 
I  says. 

*You  can  search  me,'  says  Butsy. 
That's  what  they're  chewin'  the  rag 
about  now.' 


EXIT  BUTSY  293 

"Me  V  Pee  wee  slides  over  to  where  the 
crowd  is. 

"  Til  have  the  law  on  ye  sure!'  a  old 
Jasper  is  savin'.  He's  got  on  a  long- 
tailed  coat  'n'  a  white  string  tie. 

"  'Edge  right  in!'  whispers  Peewee  to 
me.  'It  ain't  goin'  to  cost  you  a  cent!' 
'You  ain't  got  no  right  to  lock  them 
stalls,  Jim  Burns!'  says  the  old  Jasper. 
'They  be!org  to  the  Knox  County  Agri- 
cultural Society!' 

'"Not  till  I'm  paid  fer  the  lumber, 
they  don't!'  says  the  guy  he  calls  Jim 
Burns.  'Gimme  eighty-six  dollars,  Kur- 
nel,  if  vou  want  to  use  them  stalls.' 

w 

''  Til  have  the  law  on  ye  sure  as  my 
name's  Hunter!'  says  the  old  Jasper. 

1  'I    guess    you    won't,'    says    Burns. 
'My  lawyer  tells  me  to  lock  them  stalls.' 
'AYho's  your  lawyer?'  says  the  old 
Jasper. 

"Harry  Evans,"  says  Burns. 
"  'Well,  why  ain't  he  here?'  says  the 
old  Jasper. 


294  BLISTER  JONES 

"  That's  right— he'd  ought  to  be  here!' 
says  several  in  the  crowd. 

"  *I  told  him  to  come  two  hours  ago,' 
says  Burns.  'Say,  Orphy!  Telephone  in 
an'  find  out  why  Harry  ain't  here!' 

Orphy  climbs  off  the  car  'n'  goes  in  a 
shed  'n'  we  hears  the  telephone  bell 
jingle.  Pretty  soon  he  comes  back. 

'  'Missus  Evans  says  Harry's  fixin'  a 
clock,'  says  Orphy.  'He's  purty  nigh 
through,  an'  he  aims  to  git  out  here 
soon  as  she'll  strike  right.  He's  comin' 
in  his  autymobile.' 

"The  crowd  gives  a  groan.  Burns 
throws  up  his  hands. 

'  'He'd  a  damn  sight  better  walk,' 
he  says. 

"The  argument  sort-a  dies  down  while 
they're  waitin'  fur  this  Harry  Evans. 

"  'Come  on!'  Peewee  says  to  me.  'I 
got  to  tell  Butsy  the  good  news.' 

"I  see  the  rain  tricklin'  off  Butsy's 
nose  when  we  get  close  to  him. 


EXIT  BUTSY  295 

e  'Stay  with  it,  Butsy!'  says  Peewee. 
'They  got  a  lawyer  comin'  in  a  auto — ' 

1  'Come  'n'  hold  these  dogs  fur  a  while!' 
says  Butsy. 

5  'I'd  like  to,'  says  Peewee,  'but  I 
can't.  I  might  miss  somethin','  'n'  he 
goes  back  to  where  the  crowd  is. 

"We  waits  fur  about  a  hour. 

"  'Why   don't   ye   git   a   lawyer   that 
ain't  got  no  autymobile?'  says  somebody 
o  Burns. 

'They've  all  got  'em,'  says  Burns. 
I'll  give  ye  a  dollar  fer  every  lawyer  in 
Mount  Clinton  ye  can  name  who  ain't 
got  one  of  the  blame  things!' 

'How  about  Sam  Koons?'  says  some- 
body. 

1  'Got  one  just  the  other  day,'  says 
Burns.  'It's  made  up  to  Bucyrus.  It's 
called  the  Speeding  Queen.  He  give 
three  hundred  and  twenty  dollars  cash 
fer  it.' 

"Not  long  after  that  I  begins  to  notice 


296  BLISTER  JONES 

a  noise.  It  ain't  like  any  other  sound  I 
ever  hears  before.  It  gets  right  into 
my  system.  It's  gettin'  closer  'n' 
pretty  soon  I  think  I'll  go  find  a  nail  'n' 
bite  on  it. 

"  'What's  that?'  says  Peewee. 
'  'It's  him,'  says  Burns.     'It's  Harry. 
If  he  don't  have  no  bad  luck  he'll  be  here 
in  twenty  minutes.    He  ain't  over  a  half 
a  mile  away  right  now.' 

'  'I  hope  they  ain't  no  children  on  the 
road,'  says  Peewee. 

"I  figgers  this  Harry  Evans  is  sure 
ridin'  a  threshin'-machine  with  its  in- 
sides  loose,  but  when  he  comes  through 
the  gates  I  gets  a  shock.  Say, — his  ma- 
chine ain't  much  bigger'n  a  good-sized 
sardine  can!  It's  painted  red  'n'  smoke's 
comin'  out  of  the  front  of  it.  I  can  roll 
faster'n  it's  movin',  but  it  keeps  a-shakin' 
so  he  can't  hardly  set  in  the  seat. 

"When  it's  pretty  close  I  see  he's  a 
little  guy  with  specs  'n'  a  yellow  coat  on, 


EXIT  BUTSY  297 

but  he's  bein'  shook  so  I  can't  hardly  see 
what  he  does  look  like. 

"  'How-dee-do !'  he  says,  when  he  gets 
her  stopped.  'Er, — it  occurs  to  me  that  I 
may  be  a  little  late.  .  .  .  Will  any 
of  you  gentlemen  indulge  in  a  Cuban 
Beauty?'  He  fishes  some  long  black 
stogies  out  of  his  pocket,  but  they  don't 
nobody  go  against  'em,  except  him — he 
lights  one. 

"Then  the  crowd  shows  him  the  locked 
stalls  'n'  everybody  takes  a  shot  at  tellin' 
him  what  ought  to  be  did. 

8  'Er, — it  occurs  to  me,'  says  this  Harry- 
Evans,  'that  there  is  a  simple  way  out 
of  the — er — difficulty.' 

'There's  class  to  him,'  says  Peewee. 

5  'How's  that?'  says  some  one  in  the 
crowd. 

c  'If  Colonel  Hunter  here  will  tender 
me — er — eighty-six  dollars  in  behalf  of 
my  client,'  says  Harry  Evans,  'I'll  in- 
struct my  client  to  unlock  the  stalls.' 


298  BLISTER  JONES 

'There  you  are!'  says  Peewee. 
"The  big  Jasper  lets  out  a  fierce  roar. 

:  'Not  by  a  damn  sight!'  says  he.  'We 
leased  these  grounds  with  the  full  use 
an'  privilege  of  all  buildin's  an'  other 
fixtures  an'  appurtenances  fur  the  pur- 
pose of  holdin'  a  fair.  We  weren't  aimin' 
to  get  skinned  out  of  eighty-six  dollars 
by  no  lumber  concern,  'n'  we  ain't  a-goin' 
to  neither!' 

'  'Let's  see  your  lease?'  says  Harry 
Evans. 

'  'It's  back  in  town  at  my  office,'  says 
the  old  Jasper. 

'Who  signed  it?'  says  Harry  Evans. 

'  'Judge  Tate  signed  it,'  says  the  old 
Jasper. 

1  'Er, — if  that's  the  case,'  says  Harry 
Evans,  'get  him  out  here.  He's  receiver 
for  the  Park  Company  and  you  can  make 
him  pay  this  claim.' 

The  whole  bunch  says  that's  a  good 
idea.  So  they  tell  Orphy  to  go  in  'n' 
get  this  Judge  Tate. 


EXIT  BUTSY  299 

"  'I  got  to  go  'n'  tell  Butsy  there's  a 
judge  comin'!'  says  Peewee. 

"  'Butsy's  sore  about  somethin','  he 
says  when  he  gets  back. 

"This  Judge  Tate  unloads  hisself  from 
the  car  when  Orphy  brings  him,  like  he's 
the  most  important  piece  of  work  fur 
miles  around.  He  has  little  side- whiskers 
Jn'  a  bay-window  with  a  big  gold  chain 
stretched  across  it.  He  holds  a  umbrella 
over  hisself  with  one  hand  'n'  wiggles  the 
watch-chain  with  the  other. 

"  'Ahem — gentlemen,  what  can  I  do 
for  you?'  he  says. 

8  'Something  doing  now!'  says  Peewee 
to  me.  'This  is  God-a'mighty's  right- 
hand  man!' 

(  'Er — Judge,'  says  Harry  Evans,  'we 
are  having  a  dispute  concerning  certain 
buildings  on  these  premises,  and — er — 
it  occurred  to  me  you  could  settle  the 
matter.' 

'  'Settle  is  the  word,'  says  Peewee  to 
me. 


300  BLISTER  JONES 

'  'As  receiver  for  the  Park  Company, 
Judge/  says  Harry  Evans,  'can  you  tell 
us — er — who  the  buildings  on  these  prem- 
ises belong  to?' 

'Why — ahem — *  says  the  judge,  'it 
is  my  understanding  that  all  the  build- 
ings of  every  sort  and  description  be- 
long to  the  Park  Company,  irrespective  of 
any  improvements  that  the — ahem — 
lessees  may  see  fit  to  make.' 

"  'Now  yer  talkin','  says  Burns.  'Just 
hand  me  eighty-six  dollars  due  fer  lum- 
ber on  them  new  stalls — you  claim  to 
own  'em.' 

"  'A-he-m!'  says  the  judge.  'That's  a 
different  matter.  The  Agricultural  So- 
ciety is  responsible  for  those  stalls.  The 
man  you  should  see  about  your  claim  is 
Alf  Dingle.  I  happen  to  know  there  is  a 
certain  sum  of  money  in  the  treasury 
and  I  kind  of  think  Alf  will  pay  this  claim. 
Why  don't  you  try  to  get  him  to  come 
out  here?' 

"They    argue    a    while    'n'    then    it's 


EXIT  BUTSY  301 

thought  best  to  send  fur  Alf  Dingle.  But 
Orphy  has  took  the  street-car  V  went. 

"  'That's  the  way  it  goes/  says  the  old 
Jasper  they  call  colonel.  'He's  a-chasin' 
around  town  with  that  car  instead  of 
stayin'  here  tendin'  to  his  business!' 

"  Til  go  in  and  get  Alf,'  says  Harry 
Evans,  startin'  fur  his  machine. 

"Nobody  says  nothin'. 

"  *I  ain't  got  the  heart  to  tell  Butsy,' 
says  Peewee. 

"Harry  Evans  begins  to  turn  the  handle 
on  his  machine.  He  turns  it  fur  ten 
minutes.  When  he's  all  in,  he  straightens 
up. 

"  'Somebody '11  have  to  help  me  crank 
her,'  he  says. 

"The  crowd  goes  to  work.  They  all 
take  turns.  But  she  don't  start. 

"  'Er — it  occurs  to  me  there  may  be 
something  wrong  with  her,'  says  Harry 
Evans,  V  starts  to  lift  off  the  cover  where 
the  machinery  is.  Peewee  gives  me  a 
poke  in  the  ribs. 


302  BLISTER  JONES 

"  'I  expect  he's  right,'  he  says. 

"  'I'm  gettin'  all-fired  tired  of  this 
putterin'  around,'  says  the  old  Jasper. 
'Tom',  he  says  to  a  guy  in  overalls,  'get 
a  crowbar  an'  knock  them  padlocks  off.' 

"  'If  you  do  that  I'll  put  ye  in  jail!' 
yells  Burns.  'That's  a  criminal  act!  It's 
destruction  of  property  with  burglurious 
intent!  Ain't  it,  Harry?' 

"Harry  comes  up  out  of  the  machin- 
ery. There's  grease  even  on  his  specs. 

'  'It's  the  carbureter,'  he  says. 

"'I'll  leave  it  to  the  judge!'  hollers 
Burns.  'Ain't  that  a  criminal  act?' 

'  'A — hem!'  says  the  judge,  'I  am  not 
prepared  to  say  you  have  the  right  to 
those  stalls,  but  I  wouldn't  advise  break- 
ing a  lock.  As  you  say,  it's  a  criminal 
act.' 

"Just  then  here  comes  Orphy  rollin' 
through  the  gates. 

"'You  hustle  in  an'  git  Alf  Dingle!' 
says  the  old  Jasper  to  him.  'An'  when 


EXIT  BUTSY  303 

you  git  back,  you  stay  here  where  you're 
needed !' 

"The  crowd  has  moved  'round  back  of 
the  stalls  to  watch  Harry  Evans  work 
on  his  machine.  I  stands  with  'em  fur 
a  while,  but  Peewee  has  left.  All  of  a 
sudden  I  see  him  poke  his  head  'round 
the  end  of  the  new  stalls  'n'  give  me  the 
high  sign. 

'What  you  standin'  out  in  the  rain 
fur?'  he  says,  when  I  gets  near  him. 

'What  else  can  I  do?'  I  says. 
£  'Come  on  'n'  I'll  show  you,'  says 
Peewee. 

"He  leads  me  round  in  front  of  the 
stalls.  In  two  of  'em  is  the  bosses  all 
bedded  down  nice.  Butsy  is  settin'  in 
the  stall  with  his  stud.  He  makes  a 
puddle  wherever  he  sets. 

'How  did  you  get  'em  open?'  I  says. 
'They    ain't    locked,'    says    Peewee. 
'None  of  'em  are.    The  padlocks  is  closed, 
but  not  locked.9 


304  BLISTER  JONES 

"  Wo,'  I  says. 

"  *It's  the  truth!*  says  Peewee,  'n'  we 
rolls  in  the  straw  a-holdin'  to  each  other 
till  I  feel  like  I'd  been  stepped  on  by  a 
draft  hoss.  % 

"Butsy  gets  up. 

"  'Just  one  more  snicker  out  of  either 
of  you/  he  says,  '  V  I  lead  my  hoss  to 
the  depot!' 

"I  see  he  means  it  'n'  I  gets  my  head 
down  in  the  straw  'n'  holds  my  breath. 
Butsy  stands  there  a-lookin'  at  us. 

"  'Has  Ah3  come  yet?'  says  Peewee,  but 
he  don't  look  at  me. 

"  'Not  yet,  but  he's  expected/  I 
says,  'n'  Peewee  sticks  his  head  down  in 
the  straw  'n'  makes  a  noise  like  Harry 
Evans'  machine.  I  does  the  same. 

"As  soon  as  I  can  see  again,  there's 
Butsy  leadin'  his  hoss  fur  the  gate. 

'  'Now  you've  done  it/  I  says  to  Pee- 
wee. 

"Peewee  sets  up  'n'  takes  a  look. 


EXIT  BUTSY  305 

"  'Hi,  Butsy!'  he  yells,  'come  on  back 
here!    We  weren't  laughin'  at  you!' 
"But  Butsy  keeps  right  on  a-goinV 


THE  BIG  TRAIN 

THE  moon  had  acted  as  a  stimulant 
to  my  thoughts,  and  the  contented 
munching  sound  as  the  "string"  of  horses 
consumed    their    hay   was   not  sedative 
enough  to  calm  my  utter  wide-awake- 


ness. 

u 


Why  have  you  put  bars  across  the 
door  of  that  stall?"  I  asked  Blister  Jones, 
trying  to  rouse  him  from  his  placid  mood. 
He  pulled  a  straw  from  the  bale  upon 
which  we  sat,  before  replying. 

"  The  Big  Train's  in  there,"   he  said 
quietly. 

"No;  is  that  a  fact?"  I  cried,  as  I 
jumped  to  my  feet  and  walked  to  the 
door  across  which  were  the  heavy  wooden 
bars  that  had  attracted  my  attention. 
Peering  through  these  I  could  see  nothing, 
nor  was  there  any  sound  toward  which 
I  might  have  strained  my  eyes. 
306 


THE   BIG  TRAIN  307 

"I  guess  he's  not  at  home,"  I  said.  "I 
can't  see  him." 

"Stick  around  that  door  'n*  you'll  see 
him  all  right!"  Blister  assured  me.  Scarce- 
ly had  he  finished  when  the  straw  rustled 
and  a  huge  head  shot  forward  into  the 
planes  of  moonlight  that  slanted  be- 
tween the  bars  into  the  black  mystery 
of  the  stall. 

Never  had  I  seen  anything  so  malevo- 
lent as  this  head.  Its  eyes  were  green 
flame,  holding  the  hate  of  hell  in  their 
depths.  The  mouth  was  open,  and  the 
great  white  teeth  closed  with  a  snap  on 
one  of  the  bars  and  shook  it  in  its  socket. 

So  this  was  the  noted  man-killer, 
nicknamed  because  of  his  size  and  his 
astonishing  ability  to  carry  weight — 
The  Big  Train!  His  fame  had  been 
borne  by  leaded  column  beyond  the 
racing,  and  to  the  more  general  public; 
for  on  several  occasions  he  had  succeeded 
in  furnishing  the  yellow  newspapers  with 
gory  copy. 


308  BLISTER  JONES 

He  had  begun  his  career  as  a  man-killer 
in  his  three-year-old  form.  An  unscrup- 
ulous owner  had  directed  the  jockey  to 
carry  an  electric  battery  during  an  im- 
portant race.  Under  the  current  The 
Big  Train  had  run  like  a  wild  thing,  and 
despite  a  staggering  load  placed  on  him 
by  the  handicapper,  had  won  by  many 
lengths. 

After  the  race  the  stallion  had  reached 
back,  and  getting  the  jockey's  leg  be- 
tween his  teeth,  had  torn  him  from  the 
saddle.  Then  before  a  screaming,  horror- 
stricken  grand-stand  he  had  stamped  the 
boy  into  a  red  waste. 

This  was  his  first  and  last  public  atroc- 
ity. He  had  killed  men  since,  but  al- 
ways when  they  were  alone  with  him. 
No  one  had  seen  him  at  his  murders. 
He  would  have  been  destroyed  when  his 
racing  days  were  over,  but  he  possessed 
the  ability  to  transmit  a  large  measure 
of  his  stamina  and  speed  to  his  offspring, 
and  was  greatly  in  demand  as  a  sire. 


THE   BIG   TRAIN  309 

I  stood  before  The  Big  Train's  stall, 
fascinated  by  his  wicked  attempts  to  get 
at  me  until  Blister's  attention  was  attract- 
ed by  the  thud  of  the  stallion's  hoofs 
against  the  lower  door. 

"Come  on  back  here  'n'  set  down  'n' 
let  that  hoss  get  his  rest,'  he  ordered.  I 
obeyed. 

"Why  on  earth  did  you  take  him?"  I 
asked,  when  once  more  seated  on  the  bale 
of  straw. 

"Well,  ole  Prindle  says  he'd  give  fifty 
bucks  a  week  to  the  guy  who'll  handle 
him  'n'  I  needs  the  money  .  .  .  fur 
certain  reasons." 

"Fur  certain  reasons"  was  added  diffi- 
dently, I  thought.  This  was  an  alto- 
gether new  quality  in  Blister.  And  I 
remembered  the  pretty,  spoiled-looking, 
young  girl  I  had  seen  with  him  quite 
often  of  late.  She  was  rosy,  pouty,  slim, 
enticing  and  thoroughly  aware  of  how 
desirable  she  appeared.  Blister  had  told 
me  she  was  his  landlady's  daughter,  and 


310  BLISTER  JONES 

I  knew  she  lived  but  a  block  from  the 
race  track.  I  thought  of  the  head  I  had 
seen,  and  felt  certain  that  fifty  thousand 
a  week  would  not  tempt  me  into  an  in- 
timate relationship  with  its  owner. 

"I  can't  tell  you  how  sorry  I  am  you've 
taken  him — it's  a  fearful  risk,"  I  said. 

"Get  out!"  said  Blister.  "He  won't 
even  muss  my  hair.  I  never  go  in  to 
him  alone  'n'  he  don't  like  company  fur 
his  little  stunts.  He's  a  regular  family 
hoss  in  a  crowd." 

Two  stable-boys  now  climbed  the 
track  fence  and  came  toward  us  rather 
hastily. 

"Been  on  a  vacation?"  was  Blister's 
greeting  to  them. 

"Play in'  seven-up  'n'  tried  to  finish 
the  game,"  one  of  them  explained  as 
they  started  with  buckets  for  the  pump. 

"That's  good.  It  don't  matter  whether 
these  bosses  get  watered,  just  so  you 
swipes  enjoy  yourselves,"  Blister  com- 
mented. 


THE  BIG  TRAIN  311 

I  watched  languidly  while  the  buckets 
were  filled  and  brought  to  the  horses, 
until  this  process  reached  the  barred 
stall.  Then  I  became  interested.  One 
of  the  boys  approached  the  stall  with  a 
bucket  in  one  hand  and  a  pitchfork 
held  near  the  pronged  end  hi  the  other. 
He  swung  open  the  lower  door  and 
whacked  the  fork  handle  back  and  forth 
inside,  yelling  harsh  commands  in  the 
meantime.  He  succeeded  in  getting  the 
bucket  where  the  horse  could  drink,  but 
the  pitchfork  was  seized  and  twisted  and 
the  boy  had  difficulty  in  wrenching  it 
away.  It  was  all  he  could  do  to  regain 
possession  of  it. 

"Little  pink  toes  is  feelin'  like  his  ole 
sweet  self  again,"  said  Blister.  "I  been 
worried  about  him — he's  seemed  so  pie- 
faced  here  lately." 

"Don't  worry  none  about  him,"  said 
the  boy  who  had  watered  The  Big  Train. 
"Mama's  lamb  ain't  forgot  his  cute 
ways."  Then  he  addressed  the  other 


312  BLISTER  JONES 

boy.  "Say,  Chic,  you  snored  somethin' 
fierce  last  night!  Why  don't  you  sleep 
in  here  with  Bright  Eyes,  so's  not  to 
disturb  me?" 

"Would,  only  I  might  thrash  around 
in  my  sleep  'n*  hurt  him,"  promptly  re- 
plied the  other  boy. 

Two  figures  had  come  from  the  street, 
through  the  gate  and  strolled  down  the 
line  of  stalls.  One  of  them  was  feminiae, 
and  in  white,  and  as  they  drew  nearer, 
"Good  evening,  Mister  Jones,"  floated 
to  us  in  an  assured  though  girlish  voice. 

It  was  the  landlady's  daughter,  at- 
tended by  a  cavalier  in  the  person  of  a 
stolid  young  man  of  German  extraction, 
as  I  thought  at  first  glance,  and  this 
was  confirmed  by  Blister's,  "Let  me  make 
you  acquainted  with  Miss  Malloy,"  and 
"Shake  hands  with  Mister  Shultz." 

Then  began  the  by  no  means  unskilful 
playing  of  one  lover  against  the  other. 
She  sat,  a  queen — the  bale  of  straw  a 


THE  BIG  TRAIN  313 

throne — and  dispensed  royal  favors  im- 
partially; a  dimple  melting  to  a  smile, 
a  frown  changed  by  feminine  magic  into 
a  delicious  pout. 

In  the  moonlight  she  was  exceedingly 
lovely.  She  seemed  unapproachable,  elu- 
sive, mysterious,  and  yet  her  art  touched 
the  material.  She  contrived  to  bring  out 
how  successful  Mister  Shultz  was  in  the 
bakery  business,  and  in  the  next  breath 
told  nonchalantly  of  the  vast  sums  ac- 
quired by  a  race-horse  trainer. 

She  appealed  to  Blister  to  corroborate 
this. 

"Isn't  that  so,  Mister  Jones?  Didn't 
you  tell  me  you  get  fifty  dollars  a  week 
for  training  one  horse?" 

Blister  was  not  above  impressing  his 
rival,  it  seemed.  He  nodded  to  this  de- 
ceptive question.  And  since  he  had 
nine  horses  in  his  "string,"  the  worthy 
German's  eyes  bulged. 

At  last  I  rose  to  go  and  our  little  circle 


314  BLISTER  JONES 

broke  up.  The  girl,  with  a  coquettish 
good  night  to  me,  moved  away  from  us 
and  stood  with  her  back  to  the  stalls,  her 
face  lifted  to  the  moon. 

"Good  night,  ole  Four  Eyes!"  said 
Blister,  and  gave  my  hand  a  friendly 
pressure,  just  as  a  rattling  sound  at- 
tracted my  eyes  to  the  barred  stall. 

The  lower  door  was  swinging  open. 
A  powerful  neck  had  tossed  the  bars 
from  their  sockets.  This  was  the  rattle 
I  had  heard,  as  Death  came  out  of  that 
stall,  huge  and  terrible,  to  rear  above  the 
unconscious  white  figure  in  the  moon- 
light. 

My  look  of  horror  swung  Blister  about. 
I  saw  him  dive  headlong,  and  the  white 
figure  was  knocked  to  safety  as  the  man- 
killer's  forefeet  struck  Blister  down. 

The  rest  was  a  dream  ...  I  found 
myself  beating  with  futile  fists  the  giant 
body  that  rose  and  fell  as  it  stamped  upon 
that  other  body  beneath.  I  knew,  but 


THE  BIG  TRAIN  315 

dimly,  that  the  night  was  pierced  by 
shriek  on  shriek.  And  still  I  felt  the 
rise  and  fall  of  the  beast.  How  long  it 
lasted  I  do  not  know 

A  helmeted  figure  swept  me  aside,  I 
saw  a  gleam  in  the  moonlight — a  flash, 
and  felt  that  a  shot  was  fired,  although  I 
can  not  remember  hearing  it.  The  Big 
Train  ceased  to  rise  and  fall.  He  swayed, 
staggered  and  crumpled  to  the  ground. 

"An  ambulance — quick!"  I  said  to  the 
heaven-sent  policeman;  and  saw  him 
start  for  the  gate  on  a  lumbering  trot. 
Then  I  stooped  to  the  figure,  lying  with 
its  head  in  what  the  moonlight  had 
changed  to  a  pool  of  ink. 

Suddenly  I  felt  a  woman's  soft  form 
beneath  my  hands.  It  was  in  white  and 
it  covered  that  other  dreadful  figure 
with  its  own  .  .  .  and  moaned. 

"This  won't  do,"  I  said  to  the  girl. 
"Let  me  see  how  badly  he's  hurt." 

She  took  Blister's  head  in  her  arms. 


316  BLISTER  JONES 

"Go  'way  from  here!  He's  dead," 
she  said.  "He  saved  me  ...  he's 
mine!  Go  'way  from  here!" 

A  crowd  was  forming.  I  sent  a  stable- 
boy  for  a  blanket,  put  it  under  Blister's 
head,  despite  the  girl's  protests,  and 
pulled  her  roughly  to  her  feet. 

"Go  over  to  that  bale  and  sit  down!" 
I  ordered,  giving  her  a  shake;  and  to  my 
surprise  she  obeyed.  "Sit  with  her!" 
I  said  to  the  German,  and  I  heard  her 
repeat,  "Go  'way  from  here!"  as  he 
approached.  .  .  . 

The  ambulance  clanged  through  the 
gate.  The  young  surgeon  put  his  ear  to 
Blister's  heart,  picked  the  limp  body  up 
unaided  and  placed  it  in  the  somber- 
looking  vehicle. 

"Beat  it,  Max!"  he  said  to  the  driver. 

"What  hospital?"  I  called  after  him. 

"Saint  Luke's!"  he  shouted,  as  they 
gathered  speed. 

"You  had  better  take  her  home  now," 


THE  BIG  TRAIN  317 

I  suggested  to  Mr.  Shultz.  "I  am  going 
to  the  hospital." 

"So  am  I,"  said  the  girl.  "Tell 
mother,"  she  directed  at  the  German, 
as  she  started  for  the  gate. 

"You'd  better  not  go,"  I  remonstrated. 
"I'll  let  you  know  everything  as  soon  as 
I  hear." 

She  paid  not  the  slightest  attention. 
When  we  reached  the  street  she  stopped 
on  the  wrong  corner  waiting  for  a  car 
that  would  have  taken  her  away  from, 
instead  of  toward,  the  hospital. 

"You  can't  go  down-town  like  this!" 
I  said,  making  a  last  effort.  "Look  at 
your  dress!"  and  I  pointed  to  the  front 
of  her  gown — a  bright  crimson  under  the 
electric  light.  , 

She  looked  down  at  herself  and  shud- 
dered. 

"I'll  go  if  it's  the  last  thing  I  do,"  she 
said.  "You  can  save  your  breath." 

The  car  was  all  but  empty.    The  girl 


318  BLISTER  JONES 

sat  staring,  dry-eyed,  straight  before 
her.  A  dirty  old  woman,  seeing  the  set 
face  and  blood-stained  dress,  leaned  eag- 
erly across  the  aisle. 

"Has  the  young  lady  been  hurt?"  she 
wheezed. 

"None  of  your  business,"  said  Miss 
Malloy.  And  the  old  woman  subsided 
at  this  shaft  of  plain  truth. 

Our  ride  was  half  completed  when  my 
companion  began  to  speak,  in  a  broken 
monotone.  She  addressed  no  one  in 
particular.  It  was  as  though  conscience 
spoke  through  unconscious  lips. 

"And  I've  been  foolin'  with  him  just 
like  all  the  rest — I  thought  it  was  smart! 
I  never  knew,  for  sure,  till  back  there, 
and  now  hell  never  know  .  .  .  he'll 
not  hear  me  when  I  tell  it  to  him."  Sud- 
denly the  monotone  grew  shrill.  "He'll 
never  hear  nothing  of  what  I've  found  out!" 

"Quiet!  Quiet!"  I  said,  and  took  her 
hand.  "He's  only  hurt.  The  doctors 
will  bring  him  around  all  right." 


THE  BIG  TRAIN  319 

"No,"  she  said.  "I've  been  foolin' 
with  him.  I've  been  wicked  and  mean, 
and  it's  been  sent  to  punish  me." 

A  house  surgeon  and  the  engulfing  odor 
of  iodoform  met  us  at  the  door  of  the 
emergency  ward,  whither  we  were  led 
by  a  nurse. 

"We  can't  tell  anything  before  to- 
morrow," answered  the  surgeon  to  my 
question.  "The  pulse  is  fairly  strong, 
and  that  means  hope." 

"I  must  see  him,"  the  girl  stated. 

"Sorry,"  said  the  surgeon,  shaking  his 
head.  "No  visitors  allowed  in  this  ward 
at  night." 

Two  eyes,  big  and  dark  and  beseech- 
ing, were  raised  to  his.  They  shone 
from  the  white  face  and  plead  with  him. 

"Oh,  doctor  .  .  .  please!"  was  all 
she  said,  but  the  eyes  won  her  battle. 

The  nurse  joined  forces  with  the  eyes. 
She  looked  past  the  surgeon. 

"Very  few  in  here  to-night,  Doctor 
Brandt,"  she  urged. 


320  BLISTER  JONES 

"I  wonder  what  would  become  of 
hospital  rules  if  we  left  it  to  you  nurses !" 
he  protested,  as  he  stepped  aside  and 
gently  drew  the  girl  within. 

Down  the  dim  aisle  between  the  snowy 
beds  we  went,  until  the  surgeon  stopped 
at  one,  beside  which  sat  a  nurse,  her 
fingers  on  the  wrist  of  the  bandaged 
occupant. 

One  bloodless  hand  picked  feebly  at 
the  covering.  The  girl  took  this  in  both 
her  own  and  pressed  it  to  her  cheek. 
Then  stooping  even  lower,  she  cooed  to 
the  head  on  the  pillow. 

"The  Big  Tram's  pulled  in  .  .  .  " 
muttered  a  far  voice  from  between  the 
bandages. 

"Railroad  man — isn't  he?"  inquired 
the  surgeon  of  me. 

"No.     A  horseman,"  I  replied. 

"He  talks  about  trains.  Was  it  a 
railroad  accident?" 

"He  was  injured  by  a  horse  called  The 
Big  Train,"  I  explained. 


THE   BIG  TRAIN  321 

"Oh — that  one,"  he  said,  enlightened. 
"Why  don't  they  shoot  him?" 

"They  did,"  I  said. 

"Good !"  exclaimed  the  surgeon.  "That 
is  fine!" 

After  taking  the  girl  to  her  home,  I 
sent  telegrams  to  "Mr.  Van,"  as  I  had 
heard  Blister  call  him — one  to  Morris- 
ville,  New  Jersey,  and  one  to  the  Union 
Club,  New  York.  Judge  and  Mrs.  Dillon 
were  abroad. 

When  I  had  telephoned  to  the  hospital 
the  next  morning,  I  went  to  the  office 
and  found  a  message  on  my  desk.  It  read : 

"Have  everything  possible  done.  Send 
all  bills  to  me.  He  must  come  here  to 
convalesce." 

It  was  headed  Morrisville,  and  was 
signed,  "W.  D.  Van  Voast." 

That  same  day  Blister  was  taken  to  a 
big,  airy,  private  room  with  two  nurses 
in  attendance. 

For  a  time  it  seemed  hopeless.  And 
then  the  fates  decided  to  spare  that  val- 


322  BLISTER  JONES 

iant  whimsical  spirit  and  Death  drew 
slowly  back.  The  stallion  had  been  un- 
shod, and  to  this  and  the  semi-darkness 
Blister  owed  his  life. 

I  had  met  the  girl  frequently  at  the 
hospital  and  at  last  they  told  us  we 
could  see  Blister  for  a  moment  the  next 
day.  Ten  o'clock  was  the  time  set  and 
as  we  sat  in  the  visitor's  room  together, 
waiting,  she  seemed  worried. 

"You  should  be  more  cheerful,"  I 
said.  "The  danger  is  past,  or  we  would 
not  be  allowed  to  see  him." 

"It  isn't  that,"  she  replied.  "I  used 
to  like  horses.  Now  every  horse  I  see 
scares  me  to  death."  Then  she  hesitated 
and  looked  at  me  timidly. 

"Well,"  I  encouraged,  "that's  natural, 
what  of  it?" 

"I've  been  thinking — "  she  said  slowly, 
"every  girl  should  like  what  her  husb— 
she  stopped  and  blushed  till  she  looked 
like  a  rose  in  confusion. 


THE  BIG  TRAIN  323 

"Oh,  I  see  what  you  mean,"  I  said  in 
a  matter-of-fact  tone.  "Since  you  care 
for  Blister,  you  feel  that  you  should  also 
be  interested  in  his  profession." 

"That's  it !  You  say  things  just  right !" 
she  exclaimed  gratefully. 

"You  will  get  over  this  dread  of  horses," 
I  assured  her.  "Because  there  are  mur- 
derers in  the  world  you  do  not  fear  all 
men.  Occasionally  there  are  bad  horses, 
just  as  there  are  bad  people.  You 
shouldn't  judge  all  the  splendid  faithful 
creatures  who  spend  their  lives  serving 
us,  by  one  vicious  brute." 

"Oh,  I  know  that!"  she  said.  "And 
I'll  try  as  hard  as  ever  I  can  to  get  over 
it." 

"This  is  quite  a  little  woman  .  .  . 
she  has  developed,"  I  thought. 

An  unknown  Blister  with  strange 
cavernous  eyes,  lay  in  the  room  to 
which  we  were  presently  taken.  I  stood 
at  the  foot  of  the  bed,  directly  in  his  line 


324  BLISTER  JONES 

of  vision,  but  he  did  not  seem  to  rec- 
ognize me.  He  looked  through  and  be- 
yond me.  At  last — 

"Hello,  Four  Eyes!"  came  feebly  from 
him.  Slowly  he  became  conscious  of 
the  girl's  face,  looking  down  into  his  own. 
"You  here,  too?"  he  questioned. 

"Yes,  dear,"  she  said  tremblingly. 

The  sight  of  the  poor  sick  face  was 
too  much  for  her  and  she  knelt  hastily 
to  hide  the  tears.  Then  the  round  curve 
of  her  young  bosom  was  indented  by  his 
wasted  shoulder  as  she  bent  and  kissed 
him  on  the  mouth. 

A  woeful  scar  across  his  cheek  reddened 
against  the  white  skin.  A  flash  of  the 
old  Blister  appeared  in  the  hollow  eyes. 

"There's  class  to  that!"  he  said. 


THE    END 


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